I know this took forever and a freaking day. I have been alternating between writer's block and full schedules. On top of that, I had a LONG chapter written, so long I almost had to divide it up, and my computer deleted it. The entire thing. So I've had to try and rewrite what I could. It probably sounds crappy and lame, but it's the best I could do. I'm so sorry! I need to start backing up my stuff, 'cause this crap has happened before. I want to send a shout-out to my reviewers (Becca-TheCutie; DarkxSonata; InuyashaPrincess14; Animelover1002; ) to the people who subscribed even when I hadn't added anything new ( jaspertheninja; Naruto-Yaoi-Fanchick; WhiteRose93; Elouise Victoria), and the writers who stuck by me in all my laziness and frustration (Animelover1002; InuyashaPrincess14; Jacky-lulu; DarkxSonata; Gorillaz Fan) and to , it was just scary how we were on the same wavelength. Seriously, not even kidding, all that was totally in my chapter that mysteriously disappeared. I love you guys! Don't give up on me!

Mr. James Chavers drove in silence for most of the ride, occasionally stealing glances at the disgruntled youths in his backseat. Teenagers. Genii or not, all teenagers were the same. Self-reliant and independent. In some cases, this was a fault. Mr. Chavers was the sort of man to help these specific types of teenagers along. In this case, he had put his career at stake. And such a well-paying, fulfilling career it was. But perhaps there was a way to avoid all the unsavory drama of Principal Anders confronting him later on in the week? It wasn't that big of a deal, he would say. He had simply taken an early leave to assist a student in a medical procedure. That sounded legit. He would put this on his report, he decided. He took another look at Katrina in the backseat.

She twiddled her hair in her fingers and kept glancing around and taking deep breaths. Anxiety. Could he blame her? She had been through an awful lot today. First, there was the commotion on the bus (oh, yes, he had heard of it, from one of his more gossip-inclined students), and then the family emergency. All piled on top of her first day, the incident in the cafeteria, moving more than a thousand miles, and... well... He was slightly amazed that she had not broken yet. How much weight could one ninth grader handle? Surely not much more. Or would she simply continue to carry her load until she snapped?

He glanced back again, this time at Dexter, who glared out of the window, muttering something. Mr. Chavers, who was gifted in many things, could also lip read. True, it was little difficult, because Dexter had his head turned, but the message was clear. I should have gotten there sooner. Mr. Chavers barely resisted a sigh of exasperation. He had known Dexter for years, despite the fact that he had only started teaching him this year. From what he had witnessed, Dexter was extremely territorial, especially when it came to family and friends. He always needed some way to assist one of them. This time, he was hardly neccessary. The situation could have been handled perfectly well without him in Katrina's hands. Eventually. Perhaps that had bothered him? Mr. Chavers muddled it over in his head. Teenagers. He hadn't been one for thirty-two years, but still, he did remember some things. He remembered the emotions, mainly. He hid a bitter smile. What was the word teens used nowadays? The emotions were... jank. Terrible, yet invigorating. And highly irritating.

If you focused on emotions, high school seemed to be out to get you. Now, should one focus on good friends, good teachers, and a healthy lifestyle, it is often remembered fondly. What fickle creatures students are, Mr. Chavers thought. But, such was the teenage perspective, looking down a narrow tunnel and only able to focus on one thing at once. Oh, there may be several things in a straight line, but a teenager could only focus on one line of events or people at a time. Right now, Katrina was focused on her aunt, perhaps her eagerness to get to her aunt, and how she had rushed from the school without a second thought. All things that were related. More than likely, she was upset at herself for her hasty behavior, though wrestling with how sorry she should be. After all, her aunt was alive thanks to her hasty behavior. It oftened saddened Mr. Chavers to see his students suffering from internal struggles. And every single one of his students had some sort of conflict battling in their skulls.

Mr. Chavers pulled into the Mercy Hospital parking lot, pulling up alongside the curb so Katrina could slide out.

"Thank you, Mr. Chavers," she said again. Mr. Chavers rolled his window down and handed her a silp of paper. Nervousness flashed on her features, but Mr. Chavers laughed.

"You're not in trouble, Miss Silver. This is simply my cell number and e-mail, should you need to contact me. Remember though, my dear, I'm a teacher, not a taxi service." The corners of Katrina's mouth twitched slightly, a smile that seemed to die in her eyes. She nodded once and turned on her heel, hopping onto the curb and striding into the hospital. In less than a minute, Mr. Chavers was on the road again, heading towards the school. There were still two hours left. He could still do the job he was paid to do. But first, something needed to be said.

"In my entire teaching career, which may now be short-lived, I have never seen two students abandon school rules to go see a relative on the word of a toddler. Especially when the toddler is of no relation whatsoever to one of the students," he said, not looking back. Dexter said nothing.

"I admire your chivalry, Mr. McPherson," Mr. Chavers said eventually. Dexter gave him a hard look.

"It wasn't chivalry. Katrina could have handled the situation properly, and her aunt would have been fine," Dexter said monotonously. Mr. Chavers lifted his head in a slight nod.

"True. Miss Silver is a highly intelligent young lady. However, that doesn't explain why you found it terribly neccessary to run after her." He saw Dexter flinch at the choice of words.

"She... she might have needed my help. I could have been there, if only for emotional support," Mr. Chavers snorted.

"You don't give emotional support. You are usually the one helping people. It is usually you performing the miracles, Mr. McPherson." Dexter frowned. Mr. Chavers swallowed, partly from feeling slightly guilty that he was needling his favorite student, and partly because he felt his words rang true.

"Does it bother you that Katrina could handle the situation without you?" There was a heavy silence in the vehicle. Mr. Chavers wondered if he had gone too far.

"Bother me?" Dexter replied eventually, "You make it sound as though I'm some sort of sexist. No, it doesn't bother me. I'm glad to have finally met someone who can walk a straight line on their own. Katrina can prove to be remarkable under difficult circumstances. And... she doesn't respond well to chauvanists." Mr. Chavers chuckled slightly.

"No. I don't imagine so. Southern girls... I knew one once. Fiery thing, but sweeter than a Georgia peach." Dexter leaned forward, slightly interested. Mr. Chavers complied.

"Pretty young thing, and awfully generous. She had pride to a fault, a temper to match, though she possessed a caring side that had the whole city admiring her. As the mayor's neice, she was expected to behave so well and so sophisticated. It was amazing how much we had in common. Wrote her a poem once, you know... erm, but anyway," Mr. Chavers cleared his throat to stop his rambling, "It was expected of a charming Southern woman, to be the perfect hostess, to be polite to everyone. Think Gone with the Wind, Mr. McPherson." Dexter's eyes widened slightly. Mr. Chavers took no notice, too enraptured in his own reminiscing.

"But, she was a spitfire. She didn't like her preset lifestyle. She didn't like the boundaries. And she often bottled everything up. As such, she often exploded at the most inconvenient times. A lady in one minute, a farmgirl tackling another girl in the mud. But that's another story for another time. Nasty fight. All because of gossip. You would do well to heed my advice, Mr. McPherson," Mr. Chavers stopped his car in a lot, next to the school building.

"What advice is that, sir?" Mr. Chavers twisted in his seat, grinning sympathetically at his student.

"Pardon my language, Mr. McPherson... but you are gonna have one helluva time charming one helluva lady. Southern girls... it would be best to treat them with respect. But don't insult them by being a pushover. Stand up, both for her and against her, if need be. This may, in fact, be the most difficult experiment of your life." Dexter had been glancing out the window uncomfortably until Mr. Chavers had finshed. He met his teacher's gaze steadily.

"I think I'm ready for it, sir," Mr. Chavers shook his head, still smiling.

"Good luck, son. You're going to need it."

Katherine Lane was furious. Absolutely livid. How dare that little snot waltz in to Katherine Lane's school, Katherine Lane's classroom, and expect to get away with insulting her in more ways than one? Always picking fights, that hussy, Katherine thought, crumpling up a piece of paper she had been writing on for an hour. Katherine was already quite pleased with her course of action. It had only taken a single drop of a certain special something Katherine had found in a rare plant and a well-used cell phone. By attacking the Silver aunt and cousin, Katherine effectively harmed Katrina emotionally, while at the same time embarassing her in front of everyone. Bonus, her dashing out the classroom like an idiot. But there must be something more. What was Katherine missing in her scheme? What must be done to force that tramp back to Hooterville? Stealing Katherine's limelight, her class, her man for Christ's sake! How DARE Silver! Katherine stabbed her blue ink pen into the paper, breaking the tip and spilling ink everywhere. She snarled and hurled her notebook into the wastebasket by Mr. Chavers's desk. Traitor. Katherine had always been his favorite student. She knew that; everyone did. It was common knowledge until Katrina crawled in here with her sob story. And he BELIEVED it, what's worse. Katherine tore out another sheet of paper from ANOTHER notebook, got ANOTHER pen, and scribbled yet ANOTHER plan of action. Stab. Kill. Annihilate. Destroy. Must. Get. Rid. Of. Silver. Katherine blinked. She got it. A brilliant plan, and it wasn't even illegal. All she needed now was permission.

The elevation platform hummed, signaling its rise and descent. Katherine watched as Mr. Chavers and her soon-to-be boyfriend/ future husband slowly approached the ground. Katherine hid a girlish smile (which many described as creepy) and quieted the hyperactive butterflies in her stomach. Scheme now, admiring later. She skipped to her teacher. She didn't catch the tired sigh from Mr. Chavers, nor the sidestep away that Dexter took.

"Mistoh Chavohs..." Katherine said, finger on chin. Too much. Lose the baby voice. Mr. Chavers pulled a tight smile.

"Yes, Katherine?" he asked. The man was tired. Who could blame him, what with chasing Silver around like a dogcatcher. Katherine was pleased with her comparison. Katherine shifted from side to side, hands behind her back.

"I was just wondering... as part of the student body, it's our right to attend school events, yes? Our obligation to represent the more gifted students?" Mr. Chavers blinked.

"Eherm. Yes, but Miss Lane-"

"So I thought," Katherine interrupted, "we, as a class, should attend the Freshman End-of-the-Year Dance. If only to get a little variety in our sterile, stuffy lives." Katherine was speaking at least an octave higher than normal, voice squeaking on "lives". Mr. Chavers pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Lights? Audio?" he suggested quietly, hoping against hope. Katherine's tiny smile slipped, the corners of her mouth twitching. Stupid, fat, incompetent oaf, she thought.

"Nooo, silly! Actually take part! You know, Mr. Chavers, there is a talent portion. That new... band... thing... is going to play! This will be a perfect opprotunity to show everyone how talented we are! Or, at least, me!" This statement did not seem concieted in the slightest to Katherine. She really was very thick-headed. Mr. Chavers mulled it over. He cleaned his glasses on his tie.

"Very well, Miss Lane. If you truly have your heart set on this, I will arrange it with Principal Anders." Mr. Chavers clapped his hands, a habit his students were by now used to.

"Extra credit!" he called, mainly to Mandark, who was on the opposite side of the room, "Program your files into the school's database. Foreign exchange students if you must. We must not arouse suspicion at the dance." Katherine giggled with glee, clapping her hands and hopping up and down. Dexter shuddered. Scariest. Happy dance. Ever.

Katrina paced relentlessly in front of her aunt's hospital bed. Felicia was struggling into conciousness by now, but Katrina had no desire to startle her aunt into a coma. It wasn't until Felicia pulled herself into a sitting position that Katrina rushed to her side.

"...Aunt Felicia...?" the girl asked, guilt eating her away inside. Felicia's unfocused eyes drifted over her niece.

"Oh, Katrina... What... What ha-"

"You had an allergic reaction. To cinnamon."

"But where-"

"It was in the pancakes."

"I didn't-"

"I did. I'm sorry! I forgot how allergic you were!" Felicia laughed harshly. It sounded like she had gravel in her throat.

"Me, an allergic reaction? Katrina, sweetie, I haven't... been allergic to... cinnamon in years... Since you were eight! Don't you... remember the pie... I made for your uncle? That thing was... loaded with cinnamon! Why I remember just last week..." Aunt Felicia wheezed, breathing heavily so that she had to pause to catch her breath just talking to Katrina. But her niece was no longer listening. Not allergic? And she hadn't been for seven years? This doesn't add up, Katrina thought, mind racing. Not the cinnamon. Not my fault. Doctors confirmed it was a reaction, though! If not the cinnamon, then what? The more she thought about it, the more suspicious she became. Why was Aunt Felicia at home? She was supposed to leave work early today. Sammy should have had a sitter. But there was no sitter. How did Sammy get ahold of Aunt Felicia's phone? How did he call at all, let alone remember seven specific digits? And how did the media find out? No, no, no. It didn't make sense.

"Aunt Felicia," Katrina started, turning to her aunt. Felicia was asleep. Katrina shook her head slightly. There was work to be done. But could she do it? After all she had put her poor aunt through? Get a spine, Silver, she ordered herself. Opening her purse, she thanked her paranoid brain that she had the eqivalent of a full forensics lab in her medium-sized Vera Bradley. She swabbed her aunt's mouth and lips for any leftover substances and took the smallest amount of blood possible. She glanced guilitly at her aunt. She was now breaking another rule. Banishment from her lab. But it was necessary to find out what was going on. Katrina didn't like confusion. It led to surprises.

Katrina's initial plan was to wire her house to prevent any other mishaps; that is, if they proved to be accidents at all. Oh, calm down, Silver! Katrina scolded herself for the tenth time. As previously stated, she planned to wire her house, but there was a certain three-year-old preventing her from accomplishing her task. This three-year-old had had a particularly traumatizing day, and Katrina had no wish to leave him unattended again. She attempted for an hour to handle him herself, both entertaining him and setting up fish-eye lenses. Watching him and planting microphones. Holding Sammy in one arm the entire time wore on Katrina's patience and concentration. At the end of her rope, she reluctantly made a decision. Her trust in DeeDee had taken a serious blow today with the older girl's failure to show up, but there was still no one she trusted more with a monkey-shaped backpack to Sammy's overalls, Katrina ran through all of her house's wiring in her head, picking out the weak points and making plans to bolster them. Her multi-tasking was become a habit.

Sammy's monkey-backpack was not a backpack at all. Rather, a simple stuffed monkey with clasps in the front on its hands and feet that, when connected, formed an "x" shape. The monkey's tail had a plastic, retractable handle on the end. Sammy was actually on a leash. Sammy was unaware of this fact, however, instead deciding to use his limited thought process in his imaginative adventures, zipping around in a fighter jet with his arms held out to his sides. Now, it may not make sense to put a toddler on a leash when you are just taking a walk to the next-door neighbors' house, but Sammy was hyper, in blissfully ignorant good spirits following his near-death experience. Katrina didn't want to run the risk of having him tun into traffic, or the bushes, or a ditch, or attaching himself to one of the pillars on the front porch, claiming to be a sacrifice to the crayon gods, or something ridiculous like that. Katrina remembered dismantling her first computer at his age. She felt like she had missed something major in her life, never having that simple existence Sammy had. Nothing was ever simple for her. She liked it like that.

Pulling Sammy behind her gently, Katrina stepped onto the McPherson's front porch and rang the doorbell. There was a thump, a small crash, and a shrill "I'm coming! Hold on!" from behind the door. Katrina winced at Sammy, who gave her a grin. The door flew open.

"HELLO!" DeeDee shouted excitedly. Sammy strained against his harness. He even shot Katrina a dirty look. DeeDee pressed her hands to her face in mock-surprise and concern.

"Oh no! Sammy! You're on the leash!" DeeDee said dramatically, releasing the boy, who took off like a rocket into the house. DeeDee waved him on.

"Run, Forrest, run!" she shouted after him. DeeDee looked over her shoulder at Katrina, catching her look.

"Yeah, that's right, I watched 'Forrest Gump'," DeeDee stated matter-of-factly. Katrina nodded. Off-topic, off-topic.

"I certainly hope I'm not imposing on anything you might be doing," Katrina said, keeping the edge off of her voice. DeeDee shook her head.

"Just TV. And you know how much I love Sammy." Katrina cocked her head to the side.

"Yes. Well. I'm sure you must have been terribly busy this morning, then." DeeDee frowned in confusion.

"No... I'm free, just like I am every time your aunt goes to work early. You called and said she was staying home today. So I didn't bother." Katrina's eyes darkened.

"I... called you..." It wasn't a question. DeeDee nodded slowly.

"Yeah..."

"And you're sure it was me?"

"Your voice. Your number." Katrina added this strange happening to her steadily growing list of suspicious activities.

"Right. Well, thank you, DeeDee. I'll be back in a bit. Um, don't let him have chocolate. Okay, bye." Katrina said quickly, jumping off of the porch and sprinting to her house, swinging through the doorway and slamming the door witha a slam. DeeDee stared after her, confused and slightly worried. She slowly shut her own door. Katrina trusted her with Sammy. And Katrina hardly trusted anyone with anything. DeeDee wasn't going to let her down. She turned around, scanning the room for Sammy... who...wasn't there... There was a slam from upstairs. A crash. Sammy came barreling downstairs with a towel around his neck like a cape. He ran circles around tables and chairs, zipping by DeeDee, intent on wearing himself out. DeeDee followed after, keeping this from falling, that from breaking. Sometimes, she just wasn't fast enough. One such incident involved a rather large china cabinet. A large, heavy, very full china cabinet.

There was a rather large crashing sound from outside Dexter's bedroom door. In his house, crashes were not uncommon, but this one seemed particularly loud. He would have ignored it, if not for the loud series of thumps that followed shortly after. Sighing, he waited for the inevitable high-pitched giggle that would confirm his suspicion that his sister was to blame. As more worrisome bumps and noises filled the house, Dexter began to think that perhaps it wasn't his sister who was to blame.

"DEEDEE!" he shouted. No answer but another thump and what sounded like an "ouch". Dexter slammed his pencil on his desk, where he was drawing some schematics, and stomped out of his room. Grumbling, he made his way downstairs. He stood on the bottom step, glancing around for his sister. He had only taken one step off of the stairwell before a little flash of white tripped him up. Dexter fell to the ground, surprised, staring after the tiny bundle. DeeDee came barreling around the corner and ended up tripping over Dexter.

"DEEDEE! Get off of me!" Dexter yelled, shoving his sister. DeeDee picked herself up, hair disheveled, eyes huge, looking around the room. There was a thump, and DeeDee made a move to follow the sound. Dexter grabbed her elbow, spinning her around.

"What was that?" he demanded, straightening his glasses and labcoat. DeeDee pulled away from her brother. She jerked a thumb behind her.

"That... was Sammy Silver," she said breathlessly. Dexter squinted at her. Then he pointed in Sammy's general direction'

"That was Katrina's cousin?"

"Yes, I just said that. And if you'll excuse me, I have to go catch him before he breaks something else." DeeDee ran off, followed by Dexter.

"Something else?"

"Didn't you hear all the crashes?"

"Yes, but I assumed-"

"QUIET!" DeeDee suddenly cried, flattening herself against a wall. She pointed at the doorway.

"He's right there..." she whispered. She peeked cautiously around the corner. Dexter copied her. He frowned.

"I don't see anything," he said, stepping aroud DeeDee to get a better view of the room.

"Hm... I could've sworn..." DeeDee said, confused. Then she squealed and ducked behind the wall again. Dexter did not have time to question her actions, or the annoying sound she had made, because it was at that exact moment that Sammy tackled him to the floor with an "oof". Sammy grinned at Dexter from under his "cape".

"RAR!" he growled, baring his teeth. He rolled off of Dexter and, after turning in a circle, sat on the ground, playing with his toes. Dexter propped himself up on his elbows. He turned to DeeDee.

"What did you feed him?" he asked. DeeDee shrugged, shaking her head.

"Nothing. He was like this when he came over."

"He seems abnormally hyperactive."

"He's three. And a quarter," DeeDee offered in explanation. For the second time today, Dexter picked himself up.

"Oh, well that explains everything," he muttered sarcastically.

"Well, Katrina-"

"KAYKAY!" Sammy hollered suddenly, jumping up and flapping his arms like a bird. He turned to look up at Dexter.

"Want KayKay," he said, pouting. When this yeilded no results, Sammy sat on the ground again, repeating the phrase over and over again.

"WANT KAYKAY! KAYKAY! KAYKAY! KAYKAY! WANT KAYKAY!" the toddler screamed. DeeDee looked down at him disapprovingly.

"Sammy, you know better!" she said. Sammy looked up at her with his big blue eyes.

"Where is KayKay?" he asked, looking shamefaced. DeeDee picked him up.

"KayKay is doing big kid stuff right now Sammy. Your daddy will be home soon, though. Then you can go see KayKay, okay?" Sammy looked at DeeDee.

"Big kid? Imma big kid!" he declared proudly. He crossed his tiny arms and looked at the girl defiantly, as though daring her to argue.

"Yes, Sammy, you're a big boy. Isn't he?" DeeDee prompted, elbowing Dexter in the arm.

"Erm... yes. A very mature young boy." Sammy beamed and scrambled from DeeDee's arms. He waddled to the couch, where he climbed up and sat down. He looked up at the older teenagers.

"Imma big kid. Big kids gotta act right, that's what Mama says," he explained, sitting perfectly still. DeeDee smiled and backed out of the room. She picked up the phone and dialed a number, still smiling.

"Who are you calling?" Dexter whispered, not wanting to disturb Sammy on the couch and get him riled up again. DeeDee spoke, hardly moving her lips: "I'm calling Katrina. Sammy's done this whole big-boy thing before. It's about to get a whole lot worse, and he already knocked over Mom's china cabinet..." Dexter cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder.

"The child is a ticking time bomb," he mumbled.