Worth It

Jazz sighed, leaning back in her chair. Her computer clock read 4:00AM, but that was still Amity Park time - in actuality it was probably closer to 5:00. She'd been up all night, perfecting her paper, while her roommate, who'd already finished it and wasn't all that concerned with getting anything higher than a B, dozed on.

College was tough. Tougher when you couldn't stop worrying about your sixteen-year-old half-ghost brother.

Said half-ghost brother had called the morning before to tell her that he'd broken nine bones in an attempt to stop his archenemy from murdering their father, and that he would be in the hospital for quite awhile to come.

But she couldn't go home, not now. Exams were coming up. There were papers to be written, textbooks to be read. As soon as the semester was over, she'd go home for a bit, hopefully long enough to see Danny out of the hospital, and then it would start all over again - the work, the worrying, the loss of sleep.

Was it worth it? Career-wise, probably. A psychology major from Harvard would practically guarantee a long and fruitful career. Emotionally, maybe not. Her younger brother's life was complicated and dangerous, and it gave her more than enough to worry about without the rigors of school. His decision to not even try to get into college was worrisome, and his mounting amount of injuries was disturbing.

"Danny," Jazz sighed. He was probably asleep right now, for the first time in days, and heavily drugged. "Danny, Danny."

Perhaps she was stupid to leave for Harvard, and not go to the Amity Park University (AmiUni, as it was often referred to by the city's residents and the school's students). But her parents, who were still blissfully unaware of their son's problems, wouldn't let her do that, anyway.

She drew her hands off her keyboard and ran them through her hair. Two more sentences, she thought tiredly. I can type that up later. She stood up and flopped into the bed without changing, trying to ignore Rosalie's snoring.

Just as she was drifting off to sleep, her cell phone rung. Brrr-ing, brrr-ing, brrr-ing . . .

Jumping out of bed, Jazz rushed to her purse and dug out her cell phone. Don't let it be Danny, don't let it be Danny . . .

"Hello?" she said worriedly.

Her mother's voice, hoarse with tears, came from the other end. "It's Danny, Jazz." Her throat constricted. "He's not . . . doing so well. And the doctors seem to have found a high degree of ecto-contamination in his blood. You ought to come down here."

Jazz nodded, unaware Mrs. Fenton couldn't see her, and turned off her phone, before grabbing her purse and car keys and running to her car. It would be a long night's drive, but she had to see Danny. She had to protect him, and, yet again, his secret.

Was it worth it?