A/N: Nothing really to say... only that this is another short chapter. :P Enjoy, and remember to review! They really fuel me, and encourage me to write more. Please excuse mistakes, I'm still looking into beta readers!

...FYI, I'm really fueling/basing off my own experiences as a teenager/child. Ha, it really helps. xD

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, I DO NOT own 'Meet the Robinsons', blah blah blah. *makes weird face*

After taking a shower and getting dressed, Wilbur no longer felt sticky, but his mood was still sour. He headed up to his room to have a look at something fun to do.

When he reached his bedroom, he saw his door was already slightly open… Wilbur walked over to it, and pushed it open.

"Carl…?" he began, but stopped short. There, in front of his desk, stood his mom! In her hand was her son's failed math homework. On her face, a look only a parent can give, the Stare of Death (a.k.a. Eternal Grounding). Wilbur cringed, casually turned on his heel and started back out the door.

"Not so fast young man." Oh, how petrifying the voice of an angry mother is. Wilbur gulped, and turned back around.

"Wilbur, what's this?" now his mom wasn't so much angry as disappointed and… sad?

"That… is an excellent question." Probably not the best time for his signature smart remark, but it always seemed to slip out… His mother put a hand to her face and almost looked like she would cry.

"I was going to tell you, I swear!" Wilbur began quickly, "I just forgot about it!" Once in a blue moon, it was the truth. And today was apparently a blue moon. He had been so upset, he hadn't given his failed math a second thought.

"Wilbur, I know you're smarter than this!" his mother cried, emphasizing the paper in her hand. "Your father and I both know you can do better! You're a Robinson, Wilbur. I know you can-"

"NO!" Wilbur yelled. Not again. He was tired of being compared to his genius father. "Stop it Mom! I'm not like Dad; I'm not a whiz in school, I don't know everything! I'm my own person!" he shouted, his voice raising with every syllable.

"Wilbur! I didn't mean…"

"THEN WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING IT?" screamed Wilbur.

Wilbur was almost sure his mom was going to cry now. Her hands were covering her face, and she heaved a sigh.

"Wilbur." came Franny's quiet voice from behind clasped hands.

"Yes Mom?" Wilbur had felt so empowered when he was yelling, but now he felt so small and meek. And afraid. Terribly afraid.

"You're grounded. Go and work on cleaning the garage until your father gets home."

Wilbur's mouth fell open. It was only eleven in the morning. His dad wouldn't be home until midnight at least. He wasn't about to talk back however. So he silently left the room.

When Wilbur reached the garage, he looked around. All hope vanished as his brown eyes scanned across paper scraps, old blueprints, oil stained rags, bits of machinery, and other various messes.

He groaned, and slumped down into a chair.

"I can't believe this…" he muttered, referring not to his new chore, but to his straining relationship with is parents. He was angry and confused. Why couldn't they just listen to what he had to say for just a minute, an don't get angry at him for it?

Wilbur finally pulled his head up from moping, and his eyes fell on a familiar object. He looked at the door, and then he stood up, defiantly saying aloud, "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

He trotted off, devising a plan in his head.