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"This is weird. You know that, right?"
"Mmmhowf doyou meawnf?" Danny looks up from his cafeteria tray and waves his fork, bits of the instant mash potato slop falling off the prongs and onto the table at random.
Gross.
You feel your disgust towards the school lunches twist and curdle in your gut as you push your own tray that you'd been picking at aside, lip curled in disdain.
"I mean this;" you wave your hands in the mostly now empty space between you two, hoping it'll encapsulate your point, "You just... started sitting here again, like we're friends."
He frowns at that, swallowing whatever was left in his mouth, and stabs his fork back into his pile of disappointment, "We are friends though?"
The hurt in his voice immediately makes you spike with guilt.
"No yeah, obviously. I mean- of course," you feel the heat in your cheeks rise as you stutter, shame and exasperation making it difficult to get your words straight, "Of course. I just mean... like, we haven't really hung out since our break-up?"
His face twists in a funny way at that, confusion and a mixture of other things.
Fuck, you're butchering this. He probably thinks you're mad at him or something. This always happened while you dated, too.
Trying to salvage the situation, you quickly interject; "And! While I'm really glad that you don't have any hard feelings after all that, you just... I don't know, started acting like we've been hanging out for ages, even though it's been months since we last talked? It's just weird, is all."
You watch as he seemingly goes through some sort of internal struggle as you talk, before his face finally settles on pulling into a tight disappointed frown.
"Ah, right. I just forgot that-... you wouldn't-" you feel your own brows knit together as he flounders, seemingly trying to get his own thoughts together as he keeps stopping himself part way through a sentence and restarting.
Maybe he thinks you think this is a much bigger deal than it is? You were more just curious as to why he suddenly started taking an interest in hanging out again, you didn't mean to accidentally hurt his feelings when he's extending an olive branch.
If you're being honest with yourself, you thought you'd totally blown any chance of even just being proper friends after the way you ended things.
He'd seemed so heartbroken at the time.
A very stark contrast to the boy in front of you now.
He leans his head into his palm and absently drums his fingers on the table in silence for a few seconds before coming to a conclusion, "Right, yeah."
Before you can even puzzle what any of that is supposed to mean, he jolts up out of his seat and quickly gathers his things, shoving his tray towards the edge of the table to be dealt with accordingly.
"Hey, wait a minute!" You don't even realize you've jumped out of your seat until you process you're leaning over the entire table and have his thin wrist firmly in your grasp.
A couple more moments of silence stretch between you two, but it feels like days. The crater that seemingly existed beneath you before has now morphed into a chasm you can't see the bottom of.
You feel your mouth open and close, and you're sure a couple of stilted vowels escaped into the air, but you can't seem to get a grasp on them. You don't want things to go back to how they were the past couple of months, ghosts be damned! You miss hanging out with him and his duo of friends, even if they seemingly hated you.
There's a million things piling up on your tongue that you want to say, but he makes the choice for you, "Sorry Val- Uh, rie. Valer-... Val," he lets out a hefty sigh. The stutter over your name makes your heart drop, but he doesn't give you a chance to dwell on it, "Sorry, I didn't mean to waste your time. -Lunch. Your lunch. This was a mistake. See ya 'round."
And just like that, he's gone. It was like you blinked and he just vanished into thin air.
You slowly unfurl from the surface of the table and flop back onto the bench with a "whomp", rattling the entire cafeteria table frame and surely garnering a few stares in the process, if they weren't staring already.
Though you're far beyond the point of caring at this point.
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You watch the stop-watch resting in your palm with disinterest, the numbers fading into background noise as the seconds tick by slowly.
Usually you're stoked for a lot of the activities gym entails, unlike a lot of your classmates, but these monotonous standardized trial exercises were the worst.
It's not even really exercise at this point, considering you spend most of your time standing around waiting for your turn to do a different short and sporadic set of bur-pees or lunges or whatever else they have written on the hand-out.
The monotony itches your brain, and makes your skin buzz with the desire to do something.
Guess it doesn't help you got barely any sleep last night.
You can't even remember how long you actually slept for. Half an hour? An hour? Just over that? Something along those lines.
You flex your free hand and pinch the skin between the crook of your elbow, trying to wake yourself up and quell the urge to take to the skies.
Surely a blast of cold wind to the face would help.
A short flight or even a fight would probably be more effective exercise than whatever this is supposed to be, but these tests are a required mark for your grade and you can't really risk failing gym of all classes, so here you stand.
You dazedly imagine the feeling of the wind dancing through your curls and sigh before realizing someone's snapping their fingers in your face.
Oh, whoops.
You quickly glance at the still ticking timer in your hand and stop it before glaring at your partner.
"C'mon Valerie, wakey-wakey."
"No need to be snappy, Manson."
"And she doth return to us. Time?" Sam twirls her pencil between her fingers expectantly, disdain oozing off her in waves.
You huff and hand her the stop-watch, the dim resting numbers reading out "1:34".
She scrutinizes it before resetting the timer, clearly aware the count is bunk.
Obviously it's worse than her initial time.
She puts the stop-watch down before resting her hands on her hips, squinting at you, with her face pulled into a tight sneer.
You raise an eyebrow at this and mimic her stance, "Can I help you?"
You're not one to back down from a challenge, and Sam's always been catty with you, even before Danny.
You expect a witty retort or dry jab at your poor attention span, but she doesn't say anything else, just stares; face ever so slightly contorting and changing.
You maintain eye-contact as long as she does, refusing to back down from whatever this is supposed to be. You subtly jut your chin out further, just daring her to say something.
You know for a fact she's probably just itching to make some sort of snide insult, like she always does. It's her DE-facto mode, all bark and bite towards anyone and everyone around her at the slightest inconvenience.
After what seems like forever, the tension in her shoulders suddenly drops and she gives a weary sigh, rubbing at her eyebrows like she's just had to wrangle a bunch of rowdy little kids, "Why don't you take 5? Go get some water- or, something."
You feel yourself bristle, and can't catch your tongue before the retort leaves your mouth, "And what's that supposed to mean, huh?!"
You inwardly cringe at how pathetic and defensive that sounds, but you'll mull over how embarrassing of a response it was later while you lay awake in bed; for now you can't show any weakness or back down.
She turns her back towards you and shoots the most unimpressed look she can seemingly muster over her shoulder, voice flatly intoning, "Uh, it's called 'being nice'. You should try it sometime. Besides, you've been half-asleep and off your game all day, I just thought you might need a break is all."
Oh.
Well that's not what you were expecting.
It's very unlike Sam to show even a shred of concern for anyone she deems "a menace to society and/or her close inner-circle".
Or maybe this is just another instance of her playing off her passive aggressiveness as something else.
Regardless, you feel the edges of your mouth curl into a sneer; You don't need her pity.
"Oh, wow, I didn't know little Ms. Empath over here could actually read a room and care enough to act on it. Please, tell me what else I should do for my ailing health, oh great and wise medic."
Sam scoffs and throws her hands into the air, giving an exaggerated display of rolling her eyes as she does so, "Whatever! Can't expect an old dog to learn new tricks, I guess! You're just the same old Valerie you always have been, and will ever be."
She crosses her arms again, before turning and mumbling under her breath, "And here I thought you actually could change after-... but I guess I that was just wishful thinking. Should've known better..."
You're not sure whether you were supposed to hear that last part, but her words prickle something in the back of your head and make the hairs on your neck stand on end.
Before you can demand any sort of elaboration, the bleating of a whistle interrupts you, and Tetslaff's angry voice carries over the gym commanding that everyone gather up from their groups.
You glance at the coach briefly, staying firmly rooted in place, but Sam's already making her way towards the gathering crowd.
Frustration bubbles beneath your skin, but there's not much you can do about it now.
The window's closed.
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You duck a blast that whizzes through the shattered pane beside you and knock the closest table over for cover.
Damnit. So not the time, ghost!
You quickly take stock of the room around you. It's in chaos and disarray, but there's no damage besides the broken window and some scorch marks left on the tiles and bricks.
That's good, there's potential that this threat can be taken down with minimal damage if you can catch it fast enough.
However.
You and your entire 5th period Social's class are currently trapped in this room with no other way out.
Apparently whatever new "defence" system the Fenton's installed malfunctioned.
Or maybe it's supposed to lock-down and prevent people from leaving? Hard to tell with their stuff, honestly. Either way, it's locked you all in.
Most everyone is huddled underneath the window sills to avoid accidentally tanking a stray ecto-shot to the face, while a few hide behind upturned desks like you, but there's nowhere to hide and call your suit —or even just one of your smaller guns for that matter.
If you tried, it would be too suspicious, but if you keep just sitting here someone may actually get hurt.
You hopelessly rummage through your pack, hoping maybe you tucked a stray blaster somewhere, but suddenly you hear your name being called through the din.
When you whip around towards the source, all you process is a light grey and green blur hurling towards your face.
You catch it without thinking, and turn the object over in your hands.
A decently sized ecto-pistol sits snugly against your palm, emblazoned with the FentonWorks logo.
Before you you can be too confused about it, Tucker sidles up to your right and pulls out a clunky looking device from his backpack that he hooks into his PDA, seemingly completely missing your incredulous expression.
"Here, thought you might need this. Been making some new improvements to the blasters —Lost a lot of work after the jump sadly, had to completely restart from scratch. Haven't done any field tests yet though, so just be warned it might have more kick than the last ones. Sam says they don't, but I don't fully trust her crazy goth jock judgment." He boots his PDA and twirls the stylus with dramatic flare, "That being said, maybe you're not a good indicator for us 'nerdy folk', either, so."
As he talks, he turns the gadget in his hands on, clicking at his screen and pressing seemingly random buttons, "Either way, —and also fair warning— if it blows up in your face, I deny any accountability. Hey, think you can take some pot shots while I work on the door-"
"The last- Tucker, what the hell are you talking about, why do you have this!" You hiss through your teeth, yanking the smaller boy back by his shoulder so he stops rambling and looks you dead in the eye.
When he just gives you an infuriatingly confused look, you shake him again. Now is so not the time to be playing around.
"Tucker, answer me! Why are you giving this to me, what 'last time? What do you mean it might EXPLODE?!'"
Your grip may be a little rough, but at the moment you can't seem to find it in yourself to care.
He cycles through several emotions before panicking and scrambling backwards from your grip.
"Oh, uh- well, I mean- You know, it's dangerous! You need to defend yourself and- and- oh! Yeah, you know how the Fenton's are sometimes, always just... giving out their weapons to people." He makes a "pshaw" noise between nervous giggles, and waves his hand dismissively, "Besides, you've had like, martial arts training before... or... something, right? Surely you're the most capable person here to handle this situation- I mean, yourself. right now."
You feel the adrenaline of anger and fear and a whole concoction of conflicting things course through your veins and crash against your skin, knocking the breath out of you like a wall.
Before the surge of emotions over what he may or may not know overtakes you, —and before you get a chance to strangle the answers out of him— the ghosts burst through the windows and plow straight through the opposing wall, cleaving a convenient exit that people start rushing through haphazardly, despite being right towards where the fight is.
"Wow, would you look at that! Better get out of here while we still can and let the professionals handle this!" He hastily puts his device away and starts scrabbling towards the exit.
You impulsively stomp on the edge of his over-sized pants to try and get him to stay, earning a yelp of surprise from the tech-whizz, but another explosion in the hall knocks you off your balance and sends you sprawling to the floor.
You're quick to recover, but by the time you're back on your feet, he's already turning the corner and fleeing.
This is the only class you share with any of Danny's trio this semester, and you know better than anyone that Tucker and his friend's can be tough to track down when they want to be.
You feel your anger surge in your fists and are so tempted to give chase, but laughter in the halls pulls you from your stupor and jettisons you into action —the complete opposite direction Tucker went running.
You don't even remember calling your suit or board as you drive-pile into both of the spectral entities tearing the halls apart like clay.
You've lost your chance yet again.
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You bob and weave through the crowded hallway, not really caring if you accidentally bump into anyone. If someone falls or shouts your name expecting you to stop, that's their issue. Right now you're on a mission; Singular goal in mind.
The din of conversation around you fades into background noise as you make your way through the school's different floors, taking sharp corners and stairs two at a time.
You feel your jaw tighten, teeth grating against one another as you speed through the corridors, hoping you haven't missed your last opportunity to get some sort of answer —or even acknowledgement at this point.
You have absolutely no patience to play cat and mouse with Danny or his friends, it'd be a complete waste of your (already very limited) time and energy. Instead, you're banking all your hopes on the one other person close enough to their group who always seems to be just on the outside reach of their schemes.
You scan the thinning crowd intently, looking for the tell-tale sight of that teal headband nestled neatly in a sea of red tidy hair.
If you can catch her before she reaches her house today...
There!
You just barely catch a glimpse of her before she's turned the corner, but at least she's still here.
You book it, just barely managing to stay upright as you twist around the same corner and almost collide with another student.
You shout your apologies over your shoulder before finally reaching out and placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder, stopping her dead in her tracks.
She turns and looks bemused, but a small smile blossoms across her face.
"Valerie! It's been a bit, it's good to see you."
You take a second to reign your breathing in, and let out a hearty sigh, "Phew- yeah, it sure has, huh?"
She steps to the side of the hall —against the lockers— and removes her backpack, sifting through it till she withdraws an unopened bottle of water.
Jazz shakes it lightly in your direction and you gladly accept, popping the cap and taking a sip.
"What can I do for you?" She asks as she rights herself and brushes imaginary grit off her jeans. "Are you in need of some tutoring?"
You feel the trickle of a stray drop travelling down your chin and you wipe it away, "Actually, it's about Danny. It's kind of important, I was hopin-"
"What about him, where is he?" Her whole demeanor immediately changes and she barely gives you time to even answer before barrelling on, "Is something wrong? What happened, Is he hurt? Are you hurt?"
She reaches out and cups your face, gently turning it from side to side. That small, ever-present polite smile gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with concern and a flash of anger mixed with panic.
Honestly, you're impressed with how quickly she's flipped her whole disposition on a dime. You figure that comes with the territory of having younger siblings (or siblings in general), though you can't be sure.
If you're being real, you didn't think Jazz had any setting other than "pleasant" and "cheerful", she's just always so "happy-go-lucky"; It's a little unnerving seeing her like this.
You swat her hands away, "What? No yeah, I'm good, everything's fine. I just have a question is all."
She squints, a calculating look on her face as she tilts her head slightly to the side.
She doesn't stare for longer than a second or two at most, but there's a weight to her glance, like she's looking for something specific, and you can feel the full density of her scrutiny.
Finally breaking eye contact, she casts a cursory glance over her shoulders before seemingly coming to a decision.
"Okay, but not here."
"What, why? It's just a quick-"
But she's already pulling you down the hallway, dragging you into the first open and empty room she finds.
As she closes the door, you lean against the first desk you see, letting your backpack fall to the floor with a light "thmp".
You don't want to be here long, you have a shift at the Nasty burger in 2 hours, and you'd like to have some time to relax today.
Hopefully. Maybe.
Honestly, you never know when it comes to ghosts and their whims, but you'd like to at least try.
Jazz turns towards you and crosses her arms, face carefully neutral, "So what's up?"
"I was wondering if you know what's going on with Danny and his friends."
Her face screws up in confusion, and her tone raises in pitch slightly, "Uh, elaborate?"
Oh, she definitely knows something.
"Okay girl, spill. I know something fishy's going on, and I want answers."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Jazz's' eyes flit across the room, landing everywhere but you, refusing to make eye contact.
"Yes! You do! Do you even-!" You stop yourself and rub your eyes. You don't want to be snappy with Jazz, she's always been nice to you and doesn't deserve that.
You take a steadying breath, "Okay, look. Danny and his crew have been acting strange all year, —well, stranger than usual— acting like we're all buddy-buddy, saying or doing strange things that are completely out of character, then getting all defensive when I point it out. It's weird! Like, I guess I don't mind if they want to be friends, but it was completely out of the blue! And now they won't even talk to me, avoiding me like the plague! It's driving me crazy."
she tilts her head slightly, "Oh, is that all?"
"Is that-", you just stare at her, mouth agape, completely dumbfounded. "All? All?! What do you mean 'all', what else is there?!"
"Ah! Uh- Nothing! Nothing! It's- there isn't- I was just..." Jazz rolls her hand in the air as she flounders for a response, "um... I was just... expecting more? I guess? Here, wait- I'm sorry, that sounded rude. Let me start over."
She runs her hand through her hair and finally leans back against the teacher's desk, a lot of the tension from before dripping away, though not completely.
She lets out a quick puff of air. It could be considered a sigh, but only just, "I hope I didn't make you feel like your concerns weren't important, that wasn't my intention, they are. Though, as far as Danny, Sam, and Tucker are concerned..." she trails off, mouth opening, then closing, then opening again, "I think... maybe you just need to give them time to readjust?"
You cross your arms, "'Readjust'? 'Time'? To do what, exactly? As far as I'm aware, they've had almost a year and a half's worth of time to do... I don't know what-, but they've had it."
Jazz mumbles something that you think is along the lines of "-been longer than that...", but she immediately barrels over it and starts talking at full volume again, "I think the issue is that... they've changed over that time and maybe feel as if you haven't. Or maybe you aren't accepting that they've changed, is all."
You just stare at her, not saying anything. Your brows are pinched together, and you can feel how deeply you're scowling.
When the silence stretches on, she sighs and tilts her head back, bracing her arms behind her, "I'm gonna say something, and please don't take this the wrong way, but you can be... very stubborn and one-track minded sometimes-"
"Hey, I'm not-"
She raises a hand to get you to stop, not once breaking her stride, "And it can be a bit much. You hold people in a certain image, and if they do even one thing that doesn't line up with your pre-concieved notion of them, you lash out, refusing to believe they can be anything but what you think of them. It can be damaging to relationships of all kinds, and I think that may be what happened here."
You push off the desk and pick up your bag, slinging it over one shoulder. this conversation isn't going anywhere, and you can feel your temper's about to get the best of you. "I didn't come here for an impromptu therapy session, Jazz. If you're gonna keep jerkin' me around like the rest of them, I'm out of here."
She raises her hands in a placating gesture and stands as well, "I'm just saying, Valerie. I don't know what's going through their heads, I can only go based off what you've told me and what's happened in the past."
As she reaches for the handle to open the door, she pauses, biting at her lip, "Just... give it some thought, okay? You've done it before, so I know you can do it again."
You're not entirely sure what she means by that, but she's already out the door, leaving you alone in the dimly lit classroom.