A/N: This is the LJ February challenge, and this time, guess what? NO WORD LIMIT! Oh, glory days! So, it's humor galore. And our last month challenge is over, but you guys need to vote for a winner! So, if you have a LJ account, join the zoeychallenges community and VOTE VOTE VOTE! It's your LJ democratic right, lol. And if you're up for it, you can write as well. The more, the merrier. Oh, and I have one more request pertaining to LJ. I would love it if I had a Zoey 101 Quogan layout. I've been dying for one for my LiveJournal, so if you're savvy with HTML codes and all that jazz, my life would seriously compete and I'd write the best, awesomest oneshot EVER in gratitude! So PM me if you can do stuff like that. I'd appreciate that very much.

Oh, and enjoy. I chose two lines choices, but you're going to have to look for them.

Disclaimer: I only own Brooklyn Barrett and any other characters that aren't familiar.

The Art of Advice

Her boyfriend needs a fork in his eye, even though they're a clearly a sparkly blue and they remind Brooklyn Barrett of the jar of Cleary marbles she spends her childhood years collecting.

Brooklyn is currently in one of those stupid, pointless fights with her boyfriend of two years, Simon. He's a dancer just like her, and the walls of a dance studio with the music become their idea of a date. It becomes her lifeline, dance being engraved into her very essence. When Brooklyn turns seventeen in March, she takes the art of engraving to a literal sense. It hurts and she nearly cries while she squeezes her dad's hand. The buzzing is high-pitched but she feels the little needles break through the skin of her ankle, etching and drawing into something that embodies her, and Brooklyn can appreciate it for a lifetime.

The finished product is a pair of satin pink ballet slippers with the ribbons intertwined around a black 'B' for Brooklyn, and the end meet in a pink bow. It's beautiful and she's happy Michael can be there to share it with her, even though he's so against this. Maybe her mom wears him or something, but gratitude is what Brooklyn feels at the moment.

Lisa actually thinks her daughter's tattoo is appropriate and cute. Myra, Brooklyn's fifteen year old sister, thinks it's cool for her sister to get one after a year of consistent groveling.

Coming back to the present, Simon Howard is a sweetheart, a lovable six-foot-one teddy bear. The instant connection is established nearly two and a half years ago at some dance related function she's actually way too pissed off to recall. It's a sweet moment – two dancers that are trained for years encounter each other.

Brooklyn can honestly say that the fight is pretty stupid to begin with, but she's not going to cave. It's the principle of the thing, she asserts with a sigh in the quiet of her large room. God, a quiet, breathy sigh actually produces the loudest of echoes.

She won't let Simon's muscular arms wrap around her frame, providing her with a sense of security. She won't succumb to his kisses and that incredibly cute face he has when he's thinking really hard.

And even though Brooklyn notices the light brown freckles that line his nose, she's pretty mad.

No matter how much she wants to run her slender fingers through his dark hair, Brooklyn Barrett will probably stay holed up in her room because it's Friday night. And she's completely bored out of her pretty, gonna-explode-any-minute head.

Her Tekmate Slice sits on her night table, silent and unmoving.

God, Simon totally deserves a fork in his eye. At least, it'll be shiny.

Myra Barrett obediently, and of her own free will, scrapes off the residue of the dinner and cobbler for dessert of the dinner plates, putting the utensils into the humming dishwasher. She isn't as outgoing and extroverted as her older sister. Myra can't be – instead, she's quite introverted and to herself, possessing a soft-spoken voice and a gentle disposition. Myra is a morning person and a daydreamer of sorts. Sometimes, she allows her head to wander while doing something typical and trivial like brushing her shoulder-length hair in the morning. The only time Myra doesn't feel so constricted is when her mouth opens and a powerful voice with quite the range escapes her. After all, she's a petite girl so it's almost not expected.

"Dude, I know you and Lisa are awesome singers, but I think Myra ate Beyonce," Logan says at one of Myra's musicals only because Allison, his oldest daughter, co-produces and writes the whole thing.

She's not perfect.

Not by any means.

It's called trying to live life with good karma and leaving out the bad kind. All Myra wants to do is live her life to the fullest potential – and she decides to do that singing and acting one day. It's the feeling of smooth ivory keys underneath her fingers that makes her feel like she's high. That's better than any drugs she can possibly experiment with.

Myra sings like she breathes with several songs she already pens.

To add, she can hold one note for about three minutes.

Leaning over on her toes slightly, her hands go over the faucet and the water stops and her hands are going over the faucet, turning the pipes and the water stops. Drying her sort of damp hands on the kitchen towel, Myra neatly hangs it up and the kitchen is empty for the day with the expected snacking at different times.

"Okay," the fifteen year old says with a sigh when she walks by her parents, looking comfortable on the couch. "I'm done with the dishes and now they're self-cleaning in the dishwasher. Can I get ready for my date with Todd now?"

"Yes, sweetie."

"Whoa, hold on a minute," Michael cuts in after his wife. His brown eyes slightly widen from shock before he sends his youngest child a questioning look. "Who's Todd?"

"Michael…"

"No, no. Lisa, I just want to know who this kid is. No harm done."

Myra lets a soft sigh escape her. Resisting the urge to roll her brown eyes, she begins to explain, her voice just naturally soft, "He came to our school a couple months ago. Ask Brooklyn. She knows who Todd is, but anyway, we both got leading parts in the school play. Ms. Rosenchild thought it would be nice for us to develop our chemistry and get to know each other. So, we did the first time, and we had lunch on Wednesday. We're friends, Daddy. Just good friends."

"Group, or single date?"

"His mother's going to drive us to the mall and she's a cop, so I don't think you have anything to worry about," Myra reassures her parents, her dad mostly. This prompts Lisa to lightly tap her husband's knee as if to tell him a silent I-told-you-so. "Can I get ready for my group date?"

"Yes," Lisa permits with a nod. "Just be home by ten, okay? Wouldn't your poor old dad to burst an artery waiting for you, now would we?"

"No, we wouldn't. I'd be sad," Myra says, giggles escaping her.

Faking a look of mock hurt, the well-known comedian stands, "Okay, I see how it is. Fine, I'm gonna go see if my other baby is okay."

Myra and Lisa watch Michael scoff with fake offense and go up the stairs to where Brooklyn is.

"We love you!"

"I know!" Michael replies, and comes down to stick his tongue out at his wife and daughter. "But I'll pout about it anyway."

And Lisa and Myra watch Michael disappear up the stairs again.

"Want me to help you pick something for your date with your just good friend Todd?"

"Mom!" the fifteen-year-old cries, with a blush rising to her face. "Don't let Daddy hear you say it…you know, like that. I think his golf club collection has grown double in size. And you and I both know it's not for going on the driving range when there's free time in his schedule."

Raising an eyebrow, the recording artist smiles softly at her younger daughter, "Because you and Todd are actually more than friends?"

"Don't tell Daddy anything yet, okay?" Myra pleads, eyes flickering off to the side. She and Todd become boyfriend and girlfriend as of last week, but agree to take things slow because the prospect of being someone's girlfriend is all very new to her. But Myra doesn't want to lose herself and who she is in the process. Despite the fact that her father is one of the most caring people in the world, Michael has a tendency to be overprotective – and by overprotective, she means something similar to those clear, sterile bubbles Quinn keeps in her basement with the ventilation so she doesn't suffocate.

"Okay, I'll tell him as gently as I can, honey."

"Thanks."

"Okay, let's go make you super-adorable while Michael makes sure your sister doesn't become a hermit."

Brooklyn's in the deep burrows of her bed so long, she doesn't even bother to care about the time.

The fact that Michael's digested cobbler is running through her system doesn't matter, even though Michael's cobbler is off the biggest hook possible. The usual peach flavor doesn't present a tangy flavor on her tongue. It's kind of flat, but it has nothing to do with the cobbler at all. In fact, Brooklyn wishes she could meet the woman behind the recipe, her great-grandmother, but it's possible anymore.

Bless her heart.

Brooklyn's not mad at Simon, and maybe she can overrule the idea of sticking forks in his eyes. Sure, he displays asshole-like tendencies and it's tempting, but no, she won't stick needles, forks or any other sharp objects in his eyes. Brooklyn will only concede to shove her foot up his ass.

Now, she's confused with a tad of frustration on this side. Frustrated, there's a degree of irrationality there as well. Is it wrong for Brooklyn to allow her temper to flare at the prospect of watching her boyfriend dance with another girl even though he assures her it's strictly on a competitive basis? Is she wrong to want to shove Molly down a painfully high flight of stairs even though her dislike for her is completely and perfectly justified?

"Damn," the seventeen-year-old mutters, rubbing a hand over her tired eyes. Eyes flickering over her left, she takes the stuffed teddy bear Simon wins for her at the school carnival last year. Resting her head against the mahogany headboard, she sighs deeply. The sound of the doorknob to her bedroom is turning and the door opens and reveals her father. "Oh. Hey."

"That's it?" Michael prods with a joking smile. "Just 'Oh, hey'? Cobbler makes stomachs happy and puts smiles on faces. You have neither, so what's up?"

There's a debate going in her head. Two options are staring her in the face with imaginary, but glaring, blinding light that makes her head hurt just picturing it. The first is to ask her dad to politely leave, even though he's pretty much planted himself on the foot of her bed with the expectant look in his eyes. Michael hates when any of his children are upset, and raising teenage girls with raging hormones is no picnic. Sometimes, he tends to overreact and let his over protectiveness get the better of him.

But he'll listen, even if it is about a boy.

"So, you wanna tell me what's eating you?"

Brooklyn looks up from playing with a loose thread on her duvet, eyes serious, "No, but do I have a choice?"

"No. So, talk. Your mom is helping your sister get ready for her date with Todd."

"Fine, I'll talk. And I tell you why Simon is quite infuriating at the moment, but on one condition."

"Which is?"

"No brandishing one of your clubs when Todd comes to pick Myra up," Brooklyn replies, adamantly, crossing her arms over her chest in a serious manner. "The same for Simon, Daddy. I think Logan's a bad influence on you. I love him like a crazy uncle, you guys are horrible."

"Oh, we're horrible for caring about you kids, huh?"

"No," she answers, shaking her head, and realizes that she's smiling. Being the daughter of a comedian tends to have that effect. She laughs genuinely for the first time in a couple of hours. "But when you and Logan have Back Off: My Dad Will Kill You If You Screw Around shirts made, then that's where Allie and I have to draw the line."

"It was Logan's idea!" he quickly replies.

Brooklyn smiles softly and shakes her head, "And oddly enough, I believe that. So," her smile sort of disappears. "- this is why I'm not high on cobbler. Simon and I were casually talking on our way home from the studio, and it suddenly blew up into this huge and quite unnecessary argument because he accused me of being pointlessly jealous of a girl he was going to dance with on a strictly competitive basis. I accused him on being naïve to what Molly was actually doing, and to call me when he got his head out of his ass," she explains, angrily before taking a deep, calming breath. "The rest is history."

"You and Simon got into a fight because you were jealous," Michael says, but pauses at his daughter's withering glare. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he corrects himself. "Okay, I'm having a critical rephrase moment, so basically you had a little argument because dancing partners?"

"Yes!" Brooklyn cries, frustrated. Rage begins to bubble up in toned stomach, and Michael is caught off guard by his daughter's spontaneous pacing. Whipping around on her heel to face her father, she speaks, "What? Do boys have their own language that they speak on purpose to create confusion? Why in the hell are dudes so frustrating? To be specific," the teenager ceases her rant and speaks softly with a sigh as her breath lightly blows the black fringed bangs from her brown eyes. Planting herself next to Michael on her bed again, Brooklyn turns her gaze to him. "…why is love so difficult?"

All couples going through riffs and bumps in the road called relationships.

Michael can remember the day he and Lisa almost divorce. It's a scary time, but obviously they reconcile long enough to realize what brings them together in the first place. He can travel back to PCA – where he and his friends are all teenagers with the scary prospect of college is staring them in the face, and speeding towards them so quickly, none of them have time to prepare. Maybe it's generational. Maybe it's got nothing to do with genetics, and maybe Michael has to buck up and realize that Brooklyn isn't a toddler, and Myra may not be so dependent on him anymore.

Michael can remember when Chase calls him at nearly two am, while he finishes a set in Vancouver. He's absolutely stunned – jaw dropped and nearly touching the carpeted floor, eyes wide and he nearly forgets to breathe.

"Man, I don't know if I can handle being married to Zoey anymore. Especially now that there's a toddler in the mix. And the fact that I may have fallen out of love with her after everything, is very, very scary."

Michael and Logan keep in contact with Chase. Because it's common knowledge in their little circle of friends, Chase actually lives in New York as a journalist. He marries Lola, four years after his divorce from Zoey and the two now share custody of their now ten-year-old son, Nate. Instantly, he's a stepfather helping Lola raise her eight year old daughter, Miranda with Vince Blake.

Michael can remember a time where Logan and Quinn fight so badly, everyone around them worries.

They only make up only because Allie secretly hates when her parents fight and being the firecracker but caring and somewhat nurturing person that she is, she runs away to hide in her grandfather's house with her six-year-old twin brothers, Luke and Matt. Michael finds out from Brooklyn, then thirteen. It takes a lot of prying from her but she finally cracks when Brooklyn confesses that Allie runs away from home with her brothers to Malcolm's house, forty-five minutes away.

Michael and Lisa ground Brooklyn for being an accessory, but to this day, he will never comprehend how a twelve and a half girl carries two six year old boys and hops a bus to the other side of town right to the exact location, just to get away from the tension.

Long story short, the scare of having three potentially missing children really gets to them. Quinn is hysterically relieved, and Logan can stop building those horrible scenarios in his head and hug his children really tight and loosely threaten them, "If you ever cause me and your mother to experience hell again, I swear to God, I'll disown all three of you."

Logan and Quinn eventually make up, and the rest is history.

The fact of the matter is that all relationships go through snags, some deeper than others.

Brooklyn is a teenager and in a relationship.

And he'll have to accept it in its entirety, so the golf clubs have to go away, unfortunately.

"Well, there's a reason why love makes people crazy," he starts to explain. Placing a comforting arm around her shoulders, Michael looks upward in thought, while she looks at her father, expectedly. "Love is like the game rock-paper-scissors."

"What?" Brooklyn deadpans. "I could have another girl potentially moving in on my boyfriend, and you bring up rock-paper-scissors. That's it?"

Michael's hands go up in defense and slight assurance, "I have a point. I promise."

"Dad," the dancer groans, slapping a hand to her forehead. She touches his shoulder. "Please tell me that this will work. I can't believe I'm admitting this to you," a shaky sigh exits her, but it just doesn't calm her down. " – but I love Simon. I love him so much. Sometimes, I think I'm too young, or too crazy."

Michael places his hands on his daughter's shoulders, and smiles gently, "I have an angle, okay? I have advice that will make you think I'm the World's Drippin' Dad Ever."

Her dark eyebrow draw together in confusion, "What?"

"Never mind," the comedian sighs, and wants to mutter something about kids clearly not appreciating a good slang term he still never gets credit for coining. It's cruel, messed up, jank, and frankly…flump. "But look, it's like rock-paper-scissors only because you think you know what your partner is thinking, and it's goin' great. Everything's on the same page, and BAM," Michael accentuates for emphasis and it gets Brooklyn's attention. " – everything blows up, because you think he's gonna throw down paper when you have scissors, but he actually threw down rock. My point is, relationships are unexpected like the game, but the difference is when you're in a relationship, there are no winners and losers. There's just halfway, and both people have to meet it. Talk to Simon, okay? I promise not to get up in your business."

Brooklyn lets her father's words sink in. It's so crazy, so outlandish, so bizarre and weird. But it's also insightful and even wise. Feeling a sense of resolve and her sense of calm return, she grins really wide and encloses her father in the most heartfelt hug she can muster. Michael wraps his arms around his daughter before they pull away, because of the sound of a roaring engine.

"What the?" Brooklyn wonders before she scurries over to her window, pulling the purple curtains back, and looks up to Michael, as if to ask if he has any idea. "Why is there a tractor in the driveway?"

"So, Todd's mom drives a car that looks like a monster truck and a tractor when she's off-duty, I'm guessing," Michael deducts, and sighs. "Looks like I'd better meet this kid before Myra goes out on her date."

"Be nice, Daddy. I choreographed the dance parts for the musical, and he's cool. He's good people."

"I'm sure, but still, I wanna see if he's good people."

And her little sister's boyfriend, but she's not going there. That's uncharted territory.

Brooklyn sighs, and shakes her head, resolving that Michael will never change.

But that's what makes Michael Barrett, well, Michael Barrett, and she loves him deeply for that.

"Thanks for the advice. As weird and odd as it may seem," a small chuckle leaves her. Michael turns around just barely touching the doorknob and crosses over to where she is, just to leave a kiss on her forehead in return.

"Well, you're my baby. That's what I'm here for. I only want to make sure you and your sister are happy people. And your mother too," he answers, with a shrug as he goes for the door again. "Goodnight. Love you."

"Love you too."

In the span of twenty minutes, Brooklyn's mood goes from miserable to calm.

Her eyes flicker over to the Tekmate Slice still sits on the table, sparkles and all and she knows what she has to do.

It's better for the both of them.

"Is Brooklyn okay?"

"Yep," Michael replies, shortly running a hand over his face because it's so draining. "Sorted everything out."

"That's great. She's going to talk to Simon and sort everything out with him," Lisa sighs, closing the front door with a smile on her face when she faces her husband. "Todd's a good kid, don't you think?"

"He's alright."

Placing her hands on her hips, Lisa fixes her husband with a questioning stare, "Just alright? That's it?"

"Hey!" Michael defends, through a voice that has mock-anger in reaction to the teasing look that takes over her pretty, delicate features. "I didn't even think about the golf clubs the whole time."

"Sure, you didn't."

"Lisa, I didn't."

"Okay, but this is a big step for Myra even though you see them both as toddlers that would both cling to you like Velcro before I could even get a glimpse of you," the singer reminiscences with a soft laugh. Looking into his eyes, she smiles and wraps her arms around his neck. "Babe, this may be big for Myra, so I hope you'll learn to accept that they're teenagers."

"We were teenagers too, you know?"

"Yes, we were. And I'm going to let you in on a little secret," Lisa lowers her voice to a whisper and Michael is attentive. "I thought you were pretty cute, even though you got your zipper caught in Zoey's Jet-X."

"It crushed my pancreas, and you overwhelmed me with your high amount of sexy."

Giggling against Michael's lips, Lisa replies, "Oh yeah? How high?"

Michael draws Lisa's frame closer to him, "Oh, it was off the charts, and the number only gets higher. But if you thought I was cute at that moment, why did you go date Greg besides the fact I totally unleashed digested Indian food on your shoes?"

"Yeah, that wasn't one of our better highlights, but I don't know," she shrugs. "Kinda like I don't know why I got engaged to a kid named Kevin in the first grade. He had an awesome 32-pack of Crayolas though."

"You were ENGAGED?"

"Yeah," Lisa laughs, remembering the Ring Pop as her engagement ring, and the dandelion bouquet for the 'wedding' the next day at recess. "But it was kid stuff. And besides, we got 'divorced' because he moved away to El Paso. And I ate my engagement ring because it was a Ring Pop – strawberry flavoured."

"Sounds like a pansy anyhow," he scoffs, despite the reassurance his wife gives him. "So? I rolled with the 64-pack of crayons – plus the sharpener. That's what you called hardcore colouring. Pfft, 32 is nothing. And on top on that, I drew the best robots in class and I coloured in the lines."

Lisa rolls her brown eyes, and presses her lips to his, "But I love you though. I took your name. I had your children. I love you, Michael."

"And my 64-pack?"

"Yes, honey. Your 64-pack too," Lisa replies and kisses him. Michael kisses her back, and the only difference is that the surprised squeal blended with laughter when he picks her up bridal style and heads to their master bedroom for the night. "Michael!"

"We're just going upstairs to have meaningful conversation," he answers, and smiles like he's hiding some secret she has yet to discover.

"The kind that makes clothing optional?"

"Pretty much, yes. Even though I'd prefer them off."

After all, it's Friday night and there's a lot for them to do.

"Hey."

"Hey, I was just about to call you," Brooklyn answers, softly before resting her head on the window pane. The window is open just a crack, but the breeze tickles her face a little bit. Biting her bottom lip nervously, she decides to take Michael's advice. "Do you wanna meet up, and talk?"

Simon also sighs on the other end – from what she can pick up – after what feels like years of silence.

"Yeah, talking would be good right about now," he replies, willingness merged in his deep voice. "But wait, we're not breaking up, right?"

"I don't know. Are we?"

"Well," Simon pauses, and knots are slowly engulfing her stomach. "I don't want to. Do you?"

"Okay, then we won't. I don't want to either."

Simon's deep laughter reaches her ears, and Brooklyn feels the corners of her mouth tug upwards, as she drums a nail idly but quietly against the window when she lifts her head from it, "Did we have a discussion on whether to break up or not only to arrive to the same conclusion?"

"Yeah, we did. Weird, right?"

"Yeah, totally."

"So, my backyard in ten?" Brooklyn suggests.

"Yeah, but why not the house? Are your parents home or something?"

"Definitely, and I don't think I need to explain since it's Friday night and Myra's on a date with Todd."

"Wow. Well, good for her," Simon answers, shortly and Brooklyn can picture him nodding idly. "I'll be over in ten minutes. Eight if the lady on my street doesn't stop me to talk about the weather."

"Ooh, fun," Brooklyn says, with a laugh. And then she realizes how stupid and trivial the whole fight is stupid. And Molly is stupider, but talking seems healthy for a relationship – the whole art of communication in its glory. "I'll see you, okay?"

"Yeah," Simon pauses, and then calls her name, lowering his tone gently. "Brooklyn?"

"You know I love you, right? You're still my butterfly."

"Yeah, I love you too, Simon. You're still my teddy bear."

Saying goodbye, Brooklyn collapses backwards into her bed, smile seemingly etched on her face.

She'll never take advice, in general, for granted ever again.

A/N: Whew! Nine pages and I actually put three lines in there. So, I hope you enjoy while I work on that Zogan oneshot now. It's been drumming at my psyche for about three days now and it won't leave me alone. So, I've started writing it down. Expect it out on Thursday because school is seriously bananas now. And I'm writing a paper at the same time. Boo! But yay for LJ challenge finally being over and done with. And it's 4000 words. Happy reading. I'm still looking for someone who can make me a slamming Zoey 101 or Quogan layout. If you're HTML and code savvy and know how, PM me. My page is looking kind of terrible. My head seriously hurts from studying and I'm almost done my paper so I'm gonna rest.

Review while I do so. I'm neutral about it, so sorry if this completely sucks.

-Erika