Chapter two! Yay! Eh, this would have been up sooner, but I've been feeling really sick. So yeah, I'm better now. that being said, here it is!

Megan was awake, just not opening her eyes. She had another badass dream about her and Annabella again. They were really weird, but kinda fun.

She felt something wet on her face, and she reached up to touch it. It took a few seconds to register what was happening around her, but once she did she almost screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Drake, if you don't get off me in two seconds I swear to the guy upstairs…" She said with a growl.

"Get up, bubble butt!" Was the response.

Megan shook her head. She wiped the spit off her face, and turned to face her teenage brother. For a seventeen year old, he was really immature.

She yawned, and sat up. "What time is it?"

"Noon. That's why you got spit on. You think I can watch a one year old by myself?" He asked.

"Well, mom will be mom, I guess," Megan responded.

"Agreed. You know the baby isn't dads, right?" Drake asked.

"I…I've had my suspicions about her sleeping with the guy," Megan answered. "I didn't wanna admit it was true for a while, but I guess we have to face it; Our mother is a whore," Megan smiled at her brother. A goofy, happy smile. She felt so relaxed with him. She didn't trust a lot of people, but to her, Drake was one of those people who you could just trust.

Although, if you were her, sleeping in the room he was in wasn't a good idea at all. Either you satisfied his obsession with handlebar mustaches by unknowingly sporting a rainbow sharpie one, or you got spit on.

Win win, right?

Megan got off the couch, and went to where her little sister was playing. She was crawling towards a toy block tower. Megan watched as she lifted a hand and knocked it down. She then sat down and looked at it. Megan clapped her hands, and then laughed when her sister did the same.

Megan picked the little girl up, and carried her to her brother. "Miranda is clapping now. Someone can finally like your music," Megan said with a grin.

"Hey, my music is pretty cool," Drake defended.

"Pfft. Yeah. Right," Megan said with a laugh.

"I'm serious!" Drake yelled.

"Whatever. What's for breakfast?"

"I fed her, now I just have to feed myself and you…which is hard," Drake ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. Damn, he hated stoves. And blenders. And microwaves. Basically anything that cooked.

He looked at his sister, who was now on the phone with a friend.

"Yeah. Come over and I will tell you! I don't wanna explain over the phone..." She whined. She had put Miranda down, and the little girl was not happy about it. She had lifted her hands in the air in the signature, "Carry me?" sign.

Drake went over and picked the girl up, while his sister went and changed out of her pj's. Since when she wanted to look nice for Annabella who fucking knew, but he didn't question it.

Before he could go deeper into the subject, he felt his sister pulling on his hair. He let out a small cringe in pain but let her anyways. She would move on eventually.

After five minutes of hair being pulled, Megan laughing for the last three of them, and Drake losing some hair the doorbell rang, causing the little girl to stop and begin babbling. He swore he caught a few words, but for the most part it was baby talk. Miranda could talk, and say some words, but she also randomly babbled off. He put her down, then went to the door.

Drake pulled the door open to see the shorter blonde in front of him. She froze upon seeing him. "Hi…Drake." She gave a small smile, which he returned in a much bigger form.

"Hey, friend of my sisters! How's the day doing you?" Drake asked, messing around with the girl. She giggled in response. She had always had a small crush on Drake, but she would never admit that. Megan would never let her hear the end of it!

"It's been good...is Megan still here? It wouldn't be uncommon of her to run off," Annabella said.

"Yeah! Come, make yourself at home!" The teen, deciding to act like a gentlemen for the joke, took the girls hand and took her to the family room. He didn't nawotice the blush on her cheeks, or the smile plastered on her face. It vanished as soon as Megan could see though.

"You should stop straightening your hair. When we get older, curls are going to work for you. I guarantee it," Megan said with a grin. Annabella just rolled her eyes. Since when was Megan a hair and of fashion person?

"Well, I'm gonna leave you ladies alone…don't blow up the house. Megs, I'm referring to you. I'm gonna go make a few calls, so can you keep an eye on the talker?" He asked.

"Sure, she won't be an issue," Megan answered.

"Awesome," Drake ran upstairs, planning on calling his father, then his mother, then to anywhere to learn how to cook.

He wasn't sure what he missed with the girls conversation, but when he came downstairs, slightly pissed from his own mother hanging up on him, he was somewhat confused.

Megan had a sled in her hands, and was using duck tape to tape toilet paper to her elbows, knees, and was shoving some in a helmet for good measure.

"What the fucking hell are you doing?" Drake asked.

"I'm gonna go down the stairs." Megan answered simply.

"She's gonna hit the door and give herself a concussion, but of course I'm not allowed to open the door," Annabella explained. She was holding Miranda in her arms, and she looked rather frustrated with her friend.

"I will not!" Megan yelled back.

Drake stood in silence for a while, before finally speaking up. "Can I watch?"

Five minutes later, money on weather she would hit the door on the table for the winner to take, Megan got ready to go down the stairs. She waved to her friends, as if the family room was a full stadium.

She took a deep breath, got on her sled, and sent herself flying down the stairs.

Well, Annabella was one hundred dollars richer as her friend went plummeting into the door, causing it to open, and for her to go flying out.

Papers were spilled over the table, all being classified beyond anyone's dreams.

"Hey, John?" A man asked.

"Yeah?" said man answered.

"Ever get the feeling your kids are doing something they aren't supposed to be doing?" The first man asked.

"Damon, trust me, we all get it. As parents, it's like our job. Although some get it more then others…" he said as he glanced at a sleeping teenager.

"Skipper doesn't try to cause shit. My daughter is probably at home trying to sled down my stairs," Damon said with a laugh.

"Your son would stop her, right?" John asked.

"No. He would cheer her on,"

"I thought you said he could vote in a year?"

"Welcome to my worries, John,"