Helllllo, everybody! Look what we have here, another installment of the (in)famous Made for Each Other series. Thought we were finished with all the perfection, the secret agents, the Spanish? The cliffhangers, the plot twists, the Shakespeare? No sir or ma'am, because we're doin' a sequel! I've been writing my face off to get it up (I have no face now...) so I'm very excited.

Just kidding. My face is still there. I'm pretty sure.

All that being said, here is the obligatory: Do not read this if you haven't read the first one, because it will not make any sense whatsoever at all. If you haven't, it's over 45k words, so clear your schedule. If you have, please be aware that I do not possess any ownership over the cartoon Phineas and Ferb. Only this version of their canon. I made it and it's mine. Same goes for the cover image, I made that and it's mine too.

Also. I'm trying out another style of writing with this story, which will make it a lot different than the first one, and pretty much everything else I've written. It's going to be in (GASP!) changing first person, and present tense, so try not to be confused. That is, unless I'm trying to confuse you. And to be clear, the introduction at the beginning is just me speaking, not any characters narrating part of the story. Because I know how much you all love to hear me talk... Er, read me type, or whatever the proper term for it is.

Let's note in addition that the beginning of this story contains a good helping of Phinabella. However, there is a reason they are not bracket-ed in the summary, so I warn you: enjoy it while it lasts.

I think that's about all I have to say right now, so without further ado, the MfEO series presents: Made for Each Other 2: Misspent, everyone! Enjoy!

It had been five years. Five long years. One thousand, eight hundred, twenty-six days, each of the one hundred fifty-seven million, seven hundred sixty-six thousand, four hundred seconds spent to its capacity, enjoying every single moment, seizing the day.

And lying.

Okay, so one hundred fifty-seven million, seven hundred sixty-six thousand, four hundred is more of a roundabout number. It may not have been well known that on July the second, five years before that summer, at precisely 2:03 PM something lifechanging happened, but that was the case. It was not until 8:17 PM on June eighteenth in the fifth summer after that it finally took its full effect - two weeks before the real fifth anniversary.

Phineas and Ferb, as you know them, are two stepbrothers with the intent to live life in the greatest way possible. They have a neurotic sister named Candace, a pet platypus named Perry, and a widely-shipped female neighbor across the street - by name of Isabella - who has just the biggest crush on Phineas.

Don't look at me like that! It doesn't matter with whom; Isabella's no-doubt the winner when it comes to being romantically paired with the people in her hometown. Don't try to deny it.

Either way, you take all of this to be true, no? What would have led you to believe otherwise? Surely the Flynn-Fletcher siblings consisted only of the three mentioned, right? And surely, Danville was their home for as long as they could remember? Wasn't it so that Perry's status as a secret agent was strictly confidential between the monotreme and his agency? And that the whole time, the siblings' mother remained oblivious to their daily endeavors?

Well, wasn't it?

What if I were to tell you that that wasn't exactly the whole story? That these characters had entirely different lives before that one summer you had seen them go through? What if I told you that Phineas, Isabella, and Candace weren't even said characters' real names?

...Oh, wait.

I already did that, didn't I?

So much for blowing your mind. Oh well, it looks like I have no choice...

...But to finish the job.

With the help of a couple friends.

Phineas's POV

I don't dream often. It might seem surprising, all things considered. Phineas Flynn, with the largest imagination in the world, can't dream? Surely my mind doesn't go to sleep when I do; it's always working.

So when it allows me to remember a night's period of subconscious thought, it usually ends up holding some kind of significance.

About two months ago, for example, I dreamt about my grandparents in England... The night before they popped by for a surprise visit.

The time before that, I had subconsciously predicted all of the Christmas presents I was given that year.

I always said that dreams come true, partly because all of mine had, in some way.

So when I woke up this morning with the words of a poem in my head - one that I never heard before - I started to feel a bit uneasy.

This is what I heard...

Five years past, the rest, forgotten
An entire cast: one misbegotten
One a beast, one a failure, drouth;
One from the east, one from the south
Two perfect that'll face even more
They won the battle, but not the war
Now open the box, and beware the wrath
Of the man who walks on the right path.

Do I know what it means? Not a clue! But it seems important, so I'm going to find out.

El Punto de Vista de Isabella

¡Mi quinceañera es mañana!

En menos que veinticuatro horas, voy a tener quince años - y en México hay siempre una fiesta grande para esto cumpleaños. Es como un "Dieciséis Dulce" aquí en los Estados Unidos, pero es para chicas con quince, no dieciséis. ¿Y el parte mejor? Phineas y Ferb van a planear y hacer mi fiesta. Mis amigos son los mejores.

¿Qué?

Oh... Right, I should probably narrate in English. Look at me, first time with the magical point of view powers, and I'm already messing up! Sorry, I'm just used to default-ing to my native language when in my own home, that's what we speak here. Let me translate.

Isabella's POV

My... Fifteenth birthday is tomorrow!

In less than twenty-four hours, I am going to be fifteen - and in Mexico there is always a big party for that birthday. It's like a "Sweet Sixteen" here in the Untied States, but it's for girls turning fifteen, not sixteen. And the best part? Phineas and Ferb are going to plan and put together my party. My friends are the best.

Anyway, the celebration is called a quinceañera, and it's really quite huge. Er, that's what I hear, I mean, I've never had one before. It's not like you can turn a certain age twice or something. Or turn a certain age and only celebrate it officially five months and eighteen days later. Why would anyone do that? It doesn't make sense. I certainly don't do that. What? I'm not acting suspicious. You're acting suspicious! What's a birthday!?

Woah... That got kind of weird kind of fast. Maybe if I like this narrating thing I'll divulge what exactly I'm talking about someday, but for now I'm going to get back on topic.

"Mamá," I ask in the most beautiful language ever (which, for your information, is español), "Do we want to use the big bowl, or is that still dirty?"

She looks at me with a cross between an amused smirk and a flat, annoyed expression. "I don't know - was I the one who refilled it with popcorn four times during the movie night a few days ago?"

Every year, when my birthday rolls around, my mother and I team up and take care of the cake-making. I know, it's unconventional for someone to create their own birthday cake, but it's something we really enjoy doing - and it always turns out so much more delicious than any store-bought thing some factory slapped together, or however that stuff works. Even the most finicky tradition junkies agree after trying our creation that this is the way to do it; and besides, Mom always does something amazing for me on New Years', too, so tradition isn't entirely disrespected.

Again, maybe I'll explain later. If I like you guys, that is.

"Mom, we finally got the 4D version of the new Stumbleberry Finkbat/Space Adventure crossover on the house set that we've been waiting literally years for, right on the day of our graduation from middle school. So, kind of the slumber party of the century here."

"Yes, yes, I understand," she says, smiling. "Now, get that bowl clean and we can mix this all together."

I beam, thinking about how well this looks like it's going to turn out. Red velvet, is there any other kind of cake worth eating? Well, maybe ice cream, but a little birdie told me there is going to be an ice cream bar at the party anyway, so what would be the point? I do as I was told.

As I run the bowl under the warm water, Mom suddenly stops what she's doing and reaches to hug me from behind. I tense up for a brief moment, but don't stop what I'm doing. It's just like any mom to get sappy near her child's birthday, so like the dismissive teenager some people think I am, I act as though I'm ignoring it. "I love you, you know," she chides, embracing me gently. I scrub at a particularly stubborn piece of somethingorother stuck to the bowl. "You're such a beautiful fifteen-year-old."

"Not yet, Mom," I tease, but it's mostly to convince myself more than anything.

She is silent for a moment, considering this. Tension rises as unspoken words travel between us in the way they can only between mother and daughter. We both know it's not the truth, and the subject is quite touchy for both of us, so the air immediately becomes thicker; yet she doesn't let go. Instead, she rests her head on top of mine and moves her hands around by my neck and shoulders, tracing the faint, itty-bitty scar on the right side of my neck's base. The one she put there.

Her head moves forward and she mouths something into my ear. It would be impossible to hear if not for her proximity to me, though I get the message clearly: "I'm sorry."

My figure falls, and I can tell she understands that I forgive her, it was her job, she didn't mean it, blah, blah, blah, all the same things I say every time.

When the cake is taken out of the bowl and put into the oven, I make sure to steal the container away for licking. It will be needed later.

Ferb's POV

"I'm thinking something exotic will do," Phineas considers, "To go with her culture, maybe? Most people in this country don't have quinceañeras. Or, would that conflict too much with - well, you know?"

I shake my head. Years have done their magic and put those national issues behind us. "Alright... Do you think we should just ask her? It is her party, and it has to be just how she wants it. I know it's supposed to be a surprise, but, how else are we going to make it perf-"

His speech ends right there, as if we were talking on the telephone and the line suddenly cut off. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he looks back at me with those big Phineas eyes that we all love.

"Yeah. Let's just... Do what we can. I know, a pool party! She said she wanted it in her backyard, right? Er, she hinted at it, but that's close enough. We should make this gigantic water slide, and maybe some sort of lazy river type moat that goes around the house, and with Vivian's permission we could excavate a little and make a deep end, with a diving board that uses micro anti-gravity panels so that people can jump super high, and oh, you know a hot tub is going to happen..."

He continues to rattle off ideas of the sort, then notices my surely less-than-amused expression. "I just... Want to make it special," he explains.

I hand him the blueprints for each and every thing he mentioned, knowing that we already have done a lot of them. He appears to understand this, but knows I mean the best. "She's going to love it," I promise, that being one thing I know for sure. As long as it involved my brother, Isabella could never be happier. That rule stuck hard and fast throughout the whole of our knowing her.

We head into the living room of our house via the backyard's sliding glass door, where a special surprise awaited us: our beloved sister, Candace, sitting nonchalantly on the couch.

"Woah, h-hey, Candace!" Phineas shouts with what would be an understatement to call enthusiasm. He runs to her and throws his arms around her before she could react or get out of the way.

"Phineas," she starts, "Don't do that, you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry..." He says sheepishly, and makes way for me to greet our sister as well. I hug her briefly and move to sit next to her, happy to watch my siblings' conversation. "So, what's going on? How's school going?"

Candace rolls her eyes back. "It's been better. Lots of work, but you know, it's worth it."

I cross my arms. "And Jeremy?" I ask simply.

She smiles, harder than one would think necessary but not the overwhelming type of grin we're used to from her. "He's great," she admits, and we can see how happy she is. "What about you two? What have you been up to lately? I haven't seen you in like, months. Spill - did Mom finally bust you yet?"

"Not sure what you mean by that..." Phineas begins, expressing the confusion we share as a result of the last question. "But we're doing just fine. Another summer just started about a week ago, and there's so much we have to do to seize it. Right, Ferbo?"

Blink. Nod, nod.

"We're not quite sure what to do with today yet, but tomorrow, we're going all out. It's Isabella's fifteenth birthday, so we have to make s-"

"Isabella," Candace says, interrupting him. "How is she?" She raises her eyebrows but lowers her eyelids in a teasing expression that she totally stole from me. "How are you two doing?"

Phineas turns a bit red, but answers the question. "It's going well..." He stammers, "No one really suspects, if that's what you're asking. We're really excited for tomorrow." He joins Candace in giddily smiling about their respective love interests - it's as if he can tell exactly what Candace is thinking - and I deadpan.

"Vanessa's doing well too, if anyone cares to ask," I state. I don't know why Isabella chose a birthday so close to hers.

"Oh, yeah," remembers Phineas. "She's in town now from her birthday yesterday. I don't know why Isabella chose a birthday so close to hers..."

I look to my brother with a flat expression. "Fine, you got me." He removes a helmet of identical size and shape to his head from its previous residence there. "I'll turn the mind-reading off."

"Yeah, and keep it off," requests our sister. "As a matter of fact, destroy that thing. My thoughts are my business, okay?"

Phineas looks at the ground, looking embarrassed and proud at the same time. "Noted," he replies.

"So I'm guessing you're doing Isabella's party tomorrow, huh? Can I come?"

"Of course," Phineas agrees loudly, as I say the same too quietly for one to hear.

"And Vanessa's going to still be here?"

Nod nod nod.

Candace eyes me suspiciously. It was no secret between the three of us that she was my preferred sister, even though I hate having to choose favourites. I love Candace dearly, but previous infatuation trumps lone sisterly bond, I'm afraid.

"Good, so we'll have some time to catch up. What's going on between her and Monty? Anything?" I don't remember Candace being quite this gossipy.

Shake, shake.

Phineas looks at me, surprised. "What does that mean?" He asks, for once not understanding my body language.

"You'll see tomorrow," I say. That's all the answer they're getting.

They both reply the same way: "Okay..."

I turn to see Perry standing in the entranceway, clearly as surprised to see Candace there as we were. As she didn't yet know of his secret (as far as I know, that is), he immediately returns to pet form and waddles up to us on the couch.

"Oh, there you are, Perry," Candace says, smiling. She picks him up and puts him on her lap - I never thought I'd see the day. "It's been a while. Someone's getting a little old." She turns to us. "How old is he now? Like, ten?"

"Ten years," Phineas confirms.

"...And that's old for a platypus, right?"

"Pretty dang so."

"Hear that, Perry?" Candace returns to teasing him. "You're pretty dang old. You going to let them call you that? Of course you are, what can you do to stop them?"

If only she knew how smart he really is.

Phineas's POV

June 18.

The stage is set. The troops are ready to move out. The problem is, without the element of surprise on our side, we're pretty much sunk. But luckily there is a way to gain said element, a method I've been practicing for years, one that involves misdirection, distraction, and some ice cream.

Every year on Isabella's birthday, Ferb and I take it upon ourselves to make sure her party is the greatest ever; and afterwards she and I - no Ferb, no one else - go out for ice cream sundaes. It started that one summer that Irving documented, the first time we celebrated it in the summer, you know the one to which I'm referring. But this year, it being her quinceañera, we won't have the time to do that later. The party should be running for longer than normal, hopefully into the late evening - there's this star show we have planned, time permitting - and the scale and location of the event will make it excruciating to set up when Isabella's in proximity to her residence. Woah... Gretchen is rubbing off on me.

But the point is, I will need to take Isabella out earlier than normal, to allow the gang to properly set up the surprise. So I stand here looking in the mirror, fixing the tie I reserve for special occasions such as this, play with my collar, unbutton and rebutton my light orange shirt, smooth out the denim on my shorts, tighten the shoelaces on my long, black and white kicks I got in my last wardrobe change, remembering how I didn't forget about aglets that one time, and generally taking way too long to ready myself. We only get two dates a year, after all; those dates being, of course, June eighteenth and December thirty-first. What happens on those dates are strictly the business of Isabella and myself - we do have to keep the secret - but one can appreciate a clever play on words, right? Anyone?

Ferb opens the door behind me, and his presence says all it needs to. "I know, I know, I'm stalling, and you need me to get Isabella out of her house as soon as possible." I look him fully in the eyes, earning a blink in the face. "Yeah, well, at least she's not our sister," I jab teasingly.

The unimpressed frown and general mien of annoyance I was expecting from Ferb did not come; instead, he looked as if he was holding back an especially amused grin. That is, especially amused for other people, so extremely ecstatic for him. I don't press it, however; whatever's going on, I'm happy for him.

I grab my house key, attached to a small key ring which I proceed to clip onto my right-front belt loop, and explain, "I was just leaving now, actually."

The ding! signalling Ferb's thumbs-up was shorter and louder than normal. Clearly he is in a hurry; I leave the house and sprint across the street (after looking both ways, of course).

I knock on Isabella's front door without giving myself time to think about what I'm doing. No sooner do I put my hand down than she is there, looking curiously at me.

"Hello!" I start, "Happy birthday! ¡Feliz cumpleaños! How's it going, fifteen-year-old? How does it feel?"

She looks at me with a knowing yet unimpressed glance. "It actually doesn't feel all that different than yesterday," she explains, "It's like I've already been fifteen since, oh, I don't know, New Year's?

"But anyway, whatcha doin'?"

Oh, the whatcha doin'. Our little code. She came up with the idea after watching some movie, to let this one phrase be a code meaning 'I love you'. That became her catchphrase.

"Wondering if you were quite ready for our little... Excursion," I answer, feeling my lips curl up into one of those silly grins magnified by the odd shape of my head.

"Oh, uh, we're going now?" Observes Isabella.

"I'm going now," I start to explain. "But as I left the house I realized, 'What the heck? Might as well see if Isabella would like to come'." I then hold out my arm, bent as if expecting her to drape a cloth over it and treat herself to the delicate wine and platter of pastries in my other hand. Which, if I'm taking this clarity for granted, only exist in the world of obscure description.

She puts down a large, mostly-empty bowl, lined with cake batter, which I had not noticed she was holding. "Isa," I hear her mother call from inside, "Easy on the batter! You will get salmonella."

I don't believe this for a second; Isabella has the greatest immune system in the world, never being truly sick a day in her life. She had to fake it for Irving's sake once, but that does not count. "I actually doubt that," I return, understanding that she must be joking.

Vivian steps into view. "Oh, Phineas, you are here," she chides, "And in such a cute little tie as well. I am guessing you are here to take tu novia?"

We both flush lightly at this, which is all the answer she needs. "Okay, have fun then," calls Isabella's mother, returning to the living room.

"I don't know, Phineas, I don't think I'm quite ready," the girl across from me admits, "Unless you want me to go out in my signature outfit."

"Don't be silly. I like it!" I explain, not really caring about the volume of my voice. It isn't all that special, really - just a long, pink sleeveless dress with a thin belt down the middle and a wavy bottom, shoes just like what she's always worn but in purple this time, and a pair of long white socks. Her hair is braided, and a bow adorns the point where the weave began. She'd taken on the new look a few years ago when she 'turned' thirteen, the same birthday pretty much everyone had last changed their outfits. It's kind of a right of passage-slash-coming of age thing in Danville, and we aren't due for another one until we turn eighteen. I know I have time to think about it before then, but I've really been considering going with a layered shirt. Ferb pulls off his vest so well that-

Right, I should probably get on topic.

"Besides, I'm going in mine," I point out. I had to get an outfit together kind of hastily, and this was pretty much my entire closet, so give me a break!

"Yeah, at least you have that tie," she says, quite clearly endeared by it.

"Turn around," I instruct.

Isabella does as she is told, albeit hesitantly. Without saying a word, I carefully undo her soft pink bow, which seems to take her by surprise, and just as gently replace it with a light orange one - same color as my tie - with short, curly ribbons hanging from its center. "There," I conclude when I'm sure it is properly set in place, and as she spins around again to face me, I hold up a hand mirror. "Happy birthday," I say again, and she beams.

"Thank you so much," she gushes, "I love it. Now, we're ready."

And just like that, she slips her arm in my own, and we're off. Across the street, I can see Ferb's face in our bedroom window upstairs, flashing me another thumbs-up and drawing the curtains closed.

Isabella and I stroll up to the ice cream parlor, and I make a show of oh-so-gentlemanily opening the door for her. She giggles the slightest bit, and we enter, forgetting once again just how cold it is inside.

"Talk about AC," she mutters, and I comply.

"Individual air conditioning units are installed in most cases in the windows of homes, shops, offices, and other buildings. They serve the purpose of providing cool air to the surrounding area, used primarily in the summertime and warmer months, and fine, fine, I'm stopping." I stare at her amused but slightly sarcastic grin, aware that that was not what she meant, and have to notice how downright cute it is. Seriously, I don't care who you are, if you saw it you'd have to agree.

It should make sense. She is perfect, always has been. Plain and simple as that.

We walk on over to the counter, order and pay for our sundaes (this parlor is special; it makes the ice cream right in front of you by condensing some kind of gas - I forget which one exactly - into ice. One can guess who showed them that little trick), and take them to our seats by the window. I poke into mine with the long, plastic spoon and stick it out towards her in offering. "Want to try it?" I ask, though she clearly knows what is happening.

"Oh, no thank you," she denies graciously. "I can't possibly."

"Oh - right. Peanut butter. You're allergic." I wink at her, knowing that can't possibly be true. "My bad."

"Heh," she sighs, looking down into her own, somewhat - is it enviously? - "Yeah."

Her eyes. So big. I can't even.

"So, Month Number Six, Day Number Eighteen," I sum, "Now, remind me again, why... Is it so close to Vanessa's?" The last part was uttered softly.

"That was my last graduation from school before I moved," she explains. "The day before the first day of... That summer. How do you keep track of all these days so well?"

"Oh, please," I dismiss, with a wave of my hand. "I've always been great at that. It's like you're dating a calendar."

Instantly, two identical drum sounds can be heard emanating from our pockets. "Rimshot app," we both declare, before falling into soft laughter. "Dating a calendar," she repeats, enjoying the pun. "But it's not like this is a date, right?"

Secrets. Always have to keep them. Of course it is, but if anyone knew that, we would both be in for it. "Of course it is," I explain anyway, "This is June eighteenth - a date on a calendar."

In normal circumstances, this would be dismissed as another example of a miscommunication crossed with a play on words. But it doesn't take Isabella long to realize that the tile floor of the parlor was made up of crisp white squares, outlined by thin strips of black. It looked just like - you guessed it - a normal calendar.

"Oh, yes," she returns, lowering her eyelids in surrender, grinning slightly, "A date on a calendar indeed."

At that moment, I feel something strange begin to grip at my heart. I grab onto the table for support, arms beginning to shake ever so slightly. Isabella doesn't seem to notice, and it ends almost as quickly as it began anyway, so I calm down and pick up my spoon again. Mm... Ice cream.

Suddenly, I realize I can't stand to be in the same room as Isabella right now.

So... There it is. Misspent. And the first chapter ends with a pseudo-cliffhanger... I do love this series. ^^

As a side note, I have to point out: the clothes Phineas and Isabella wear in this are the outfits we see briefly in AYA, during What Might Have Been, between when they show the outfits from the normal series summer and the ones they wear in that episode. That is what I consider their teenage years, as AYA happens ten years after they are about 10-11, making them 20-21 in AYA, letting the space in-between be their teen years, and those be their new signatures. Everyone else has new outfits too, but unless I find it relevant I may or may not actually detail them in the story.

I'm hoping to go back to some kind of updating schedule for this, (fingers crossed) if not the Wednesday-Saturday one I used to be good at, then perhaps just a Wednesday one. This is pretty much my summer project, though it will probably run into the school year, too. We'll just have to see.

Carpe Diem!