Disclaimer: Danny Phantom, and all related characters, plot ideas, locations, inventions, ect. are the property of Butch Hartman, Nickelodeon, and their affiliates. I claim no rights to any copyrighted works. I certify that my ideas are all original. Any similarity to actual people, locations, events, or other works of fanfiction are entirely coincidental.
Author's Note: I am a major shipper for Danny and Sam (which is, blissfully, canon). I've noticed that the majority of fanfictions that I've read focus on Danny realizing his feelings for Sam. Perhaps I have had an unbalanced sampling, but in any case, I thought I would approach this from Sam's perspective. If you support a Danny and Sam pairing, I recommend you take a look at my work. I truly hope you like it.
Dear Diary… I Hate You.
I've never really had much of a use for you before, because diaries are stupid… no offense. Okay, now I'm apologizing to inanimate objects. What is wrong with me? Never mind, moving on.
I decided to dig you out from the recesses of my closet because… well, as much as I despise you, and as certain as I am that only girls like Paulina frequent your pages, I need to get this all off of my chest, and I have nobody to turn to. Just look at my options.
My parents. Now that's funny. My parents never have, nor will they ever understand me. They want me to be pretty, preppy, perky, pink. In short, Paulina. Sorry, but that's just not me. I won't act the way they do just to fit in. I won't flaunt the fact that I'm filthy rich. I won't backstab my friends and talk about them behind their backs. I won't ogle good-looking guys or cheat with a friend's boyfriend or any of the other things they do. Sorry for going off on a tangent. Basically, my parents won't accept the fact that I prefer dark clothing, like the rain, am not and cannot be a morning person, and choose to hang out with, and I quote, "children of ill repute and poor upbringing." So my friends aren't rich or popular. So what? They're loyal. Well…
Tucker. Loyal, I suppose, but also inclined to blab. Or to tease mercilessly. Seriously, as if Tucker could, or would, keep a secret. Give me a break. It would probably be posted all over the internet within a matter of minutes, because he'd be sure to have his PDA handy. No, I can't confide in Tucker. I might at well buy a bullhorn and shout it out for all of Amity Park to hear.
My grandma. Loyal to a fault, and the only family that could ever understand me or accept me, considering she used to be a lot like me. Or rather, I am a lot like she used to be. In any case, although she would never betray my trust, my grandmother is old. Very old. I just don't think she could quite understand what I'm going through. The age gap is too big. True, she used to be my age, but that's what all adults say when they want you to think they can understand what's going on in your teenaged mind. The fact is, that understanding fades with time. So many teens say, 'I won't do this or that to my kids,' or 'I would never make my kids do that,' but then they become parents and do it anyway. Maybe they don't do what they said they wouldn't, but they find original ways to torture their kids. Such is life. Anyway, I don't think I can handle listening to an eighty year old woman tell me what I ought to do about things like this… awkward.
Jazz. I guess we're kind of friends. As much as a high school senior is willing to be friends with their sophomore brother's friends. I know her well enough, sure, and she's only a little older that I am, so I'm sure she could understand in a way my grandma couldn't, but Jazz has her own issues. If I tried to tell her anything even remotely personal or important, I would be signing myself up for a therapy session, and as much as my parents have threatened to find me a therapist to 'fix' my strange, Gothic tendencies, I would have to be crazy to do it voluntarily. No, hyper analytical Jazz cannot help me.
Danny… I wish. Danny is more understanding than my parents, more capable of keeping a secret than Tucker, more my generation than my grandma, and more sensitive to my psyche than Jazz. The problem, however, is that Danny is the subject of my ranting, so talking to him about it would be like going to the therapist my parents want me to see, just to tell him know how much I hate the prospect of going to a therapist. Pretty stupid.
I suppose it's pretty sad that this is all that I can think of for people with whom I could even contemplate the horrific results of confiding my secrets. Like I explained, I'm not as popular as my parents would like me to be. And I never want to be. The downside is trying to find a confidant when your options are so severely limited to the few zany people you associate with.
I just ended a sentence with a preposition. Lancer would have my head. But that's a stupid rule anyway. As a wise man once said, "This is the kind of language up with which I cannot put."
And yes, I am trying to change the subject. Shut up…
Okay, fine. Let's just get this over with… or not. I'm going to delay just a little more.
So, Danny and I have been friends since we first met at Freshmen Orientation just before we came to Casper High. I was bored witless with the whole thing and snuck outside. Danny was all ready out there. He had left to escape his parents going on about ghosts. (At this point, I would have tattooed his name on my arm. Anyone willing to defy their parents by sneaking out of the school was okay by me.)
I didn't see him at first. It was late and the moon was waning away to nothing, and I had just stepped out from a glaringly bright room, so after I sat down and listened only to silence for a good thirty seconds, the 'hey' that Danny gave me nearly gave me a heart attack. I turned, my eyes adjusted to the weak starlight and sliver moon by this point, and I distinctly remember my breath getting caught in my throat. I remembered that because it had never happened before. I prided myself on being able to keep my cool around any guy, no matter how strikingly attractive he may be.
Danny wasn't like that. He wasn't the kind of boy that girls in the hall were going to swoon over or whisper and giggle about as he walked by. Which, in my book, made him more attractive. Don't get me wrong. Danny is handsome, in a sweet, gentle way which makes girls smile to themselves, rather than giggle and whisper. But I don't think he realizes how handsome he is, so he is never arrogant, even though I've heard Paulina and her friends talk about how cute Danny is and then dismiss the idea due to his social standing.
But Paulina is an idiot. She rants and raves about how handsome the Ghost Boy is, even though he looks almost exactly like Danny. Because, (duh) he is Danny. And if she knew that, she would be all over Danny like a wolf on a steak.
In any case, I found myself sitting outside in the cool night air, unusually cool for June, looking into the soft blue eyes of this boy who, obviously, had ditched the garbage inside like I had. I shivered a little, not so much because I was cold, but in shock over my breath-catching reaction to seeing this boy sitting only a little to my right. He, being the sweet boy his face suggested, draped his light jacket over my shoulders, without a word, and leaned on his back to look at the stars.
We sat quietly for a while, until Danny broke the silence. "Do you know anything about constellations?" I told him that I didn't, and he smiled. He raised an arm and pointed at a cluster of stars. "That's Ursa Minor, the little bear. Most people just call it the little dipper." I followed his hand and found the constellation, one of the few I had ever heard of, even if the ladle I had once been shown was actually a bear.
"That star, in the farthest corner, is Pherkad. And that one is Pherkad Minor. The corner closest to Pherkad is Kocab. The second one from the end of the tail is Yildun, and the one farthest on the tail is Polaris, the North Star." I remember following his finger and his words, locating each star he named. I had heard of the North Star, but never knew how to find it.
I asked him how he knew all that, and he told me of his dream of being an astronaut someday, of how he loved space. We talked a bit about our families, about ourselves, and after an hour of talking and laughing with him, I had all but forgotten that we had only just met. We didn't even know each other's names yet!
We talked until the orientation was over, and I got his name just before we parted. I told him I would look for him once school started, but just incase he wanted to get together sometime before school started, I quickly wrote my e-mail address on his arm with a pen they had given me during the short time I was in for orientation.
I received an e-mail from his two days later, and the following day he and I met at the movie theater, along with his friend Tucker.
The rest is easy enough to explain. Danny, Tucker, and I became inseparable. I very quickly developed a crush on Danny that I forced myself to hide, certain that he saw me only as a friend. We hung out mostly at Danny's house. I met his parents, ghost hunters by profession, and inadvertently talked Danny into using one of their inventions that gave him his ghost powers. Since then, Tucker and I have become his full time sidekicks in protecting Amity Park from the ghosts that often attempt to take over our world.
Then came the hard part, namely the difficulty that I've pointedly avoided talking about, because once I say it or write it, I will never be able to take it back. Even if no one ever reads you, I will always remember writing down in ink my best kept secret… But I have to do this.
It all started as a crush, a harmless crush on Danny Fenton, that I attempted to mask behind an allegedly platonic friendship. But over the course of time, I've gotten to know Danny better than anybody. Better even than Tucker, because Danny has shared things with me that he told me himself he didn't feel comfortable sharing with our mutual friend. Fears, dreams, plans for the future that not even his parents know about. (Because, as they are ghost hunters, he has been forced to save the town clandestinely, if not a little obviously, under the alias Danny Phantom.)
I've come to appreciate his sense of humor, his loyalty, the gentleness he shows me when we're together, and the fierceness he demonstrates when he's protecting me. I always have fun spending time with him, and I always feel safe when we're together. He treats me with respect. He tries to cheer me up when I'm not feeling well. He's honest and dependable. He remembers little things, like how much I love black roses, and he bought me a half dozen this year, not for Valentine's Day, which he knows I hate, but for Halloween. For my fifteenth birthday, he bought me the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, my favorite poet.
And as much as I tried to fight it, and as much as I've tried to deny it, I have been completely unable to stop myself. So, because I can't tell any of my friends or family, and I certainly can't tell Danny, I am going to confide in you just for a little peace of mind. Here goes nothing…
I love Danny Fenton with all of my heart.
Why don't I feel any better? You planned this, didn't you? You knew the whole time that this wouldn't help at all. You just sat there and listened, silently laughing at me because I spent all this time and worked myself up for nothing. And you enjoy it, don't you? I bet you've done this before.
Now I remember why I hate you.
Author's Note: So, what did you think? I edited this carefully, but if you notice any glaring flaws, please point them out so that I can improve my story. Likewise, I appreciate any constructive criticism that might improve my writing. If you would be so kind, just click the little GO button below and share your opinion. Thanks for reading.