Author's Note: Thank you so much to reviewers!

Jewelkitten: Thanks! The next part will be about the kids, but I wanted to give the adults some attention, too! And I think they are a way cute couple!

TheCheezHead: Haha, yes, she does kind of tower over him (but I think some of that is because she wears teacher-like pumps, LOL). :)

Lil Emi B: Thank you!

saxistwriterchick: Well, I watched the commentary with Richard Linklater and Jack Black, and during the van scene, Dewey and Principal Mullins were supposed to kiss! (Shocking! Haha.) But the whole "romantic" part of their relationship was taken out of the movie, so I think that "Growing On Me" was in the movie at some part that had to do with that, but it got cut out when they edited out the romance. Read the words, they kind of match this pairing well! Just my weird thought!

Reconsider Me: Part Two

Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel,

My hearts in overdrive, and you're behind the steering wheel!

I believe in a thing called love!

Just listen to the rhythm of my heart.

There's a chance we could make it now…

Dewey slept, in fact, on the foldout sofa in Rosalie's living room, but he didn't make it to that haven of rest until after he had put in his time as a cleaning slave, as he'd promised.

First she made him scrub the carpet that his elemental entrance had soiled, then she asked him to carry some boxes down to the Dumpster. By this time he was grumbling and his arms were a bit sore, but the next task she asked him to help with was much more to his liking.

"Hey Dewey? What do you think of this skirt?" She stepped out of the bedroom, wearing a short black skirt with her Stevie T-shirt over it. "Is it too short?"

"Umm… no! Not at all. I like it, why don't you wear that kind of thing more often?" Dewey swallowed, blinked his eyes, smoothed his floppy hair. He must be coming down with something from his little journey in the rain, because he was feeling weird.

"It seemed a little… unprofessional, you know?"

"Aw, well, I…" He cleared his throat again. "I completely disagree. It looks… good!" His voice squeaked on the last word. What's wrong with me? he thought desperately. First he had found himself strangely fascinated by her ripped jeans (a rock wardrobe staple), and now he couldn't take his eyes off her long, slim, surprisingly decent-looking legs. This is craziness! It was like when you were in school and involuntarily checked out a teacher, and not even the young, hot teacher that everyone liked, just a normal, middle-aged, kind of frumpy teacher! It made you want to go confess to a priest (even if you were Jewish)!

"Hmm… I wish I could see the back…" Rosalie was muttering, standing on her tiptoes and craning to look over her shoulder, turning in a slow circle and somewhat resembling a dog trying to chase its own tail. As though demonstrating the depths to which he had sunk in this insanity, Dewey couldn't help but find the pose almost cute. She walked back into the bedroom with a look of abstraction on her face, and Dewey put a hand to his forehead to make sure he wasn't getting a fever, though he actually would have liked to have something to blame for his discomfort. He shook his head, cracked his knuckles, and stretched his arms as though trying to shake out all the nervous tension that had just hit him like a freight train.

"Dewey?" Rosalie's head popped out of the bedroom door. "Can you come in here?" Ack! Am I so transparent? he thought in terror. He took a deep breath. He was being completely paranoid; she probably just wanted him to carry more boxes or something. Stay cool, man!

He walked hesitantly into the room, which was painted blue and (naturally) decorated with Stevie Nicks posters, as well as oversized black-and-white photographs of flowers. The most striking feature of the room, however, was the piles of clothes strewn over the bed and floor. "Whoo, check out the train wreck in here! Cripes!" he exclaimed, then snapped his mouth shut, realizing that such a comment might not be appreciated by the ultra-organized Roz.

"Yeah, I know, really! I'm cleaning out my closet, and see this pile?" She pointed a manicured finger. "This is stuff that I'm not sure about keeping. Look at it, what do you think?"

He looked down at the tangle of garments. He was no women's fashion expert, but he didn't want to sound stupid or unwilling to help (on the contrary, he was getting so "willing" that it was almost ridiculous).

Then, as usual, Dewey figured out a way to milk the situation.

"I really can't say just looking at them like this. Why don't you… try them on?" He tried to hide his anticipatory grin. Rosalie didn't notice his twisted glee. "That makes sense. Great idea!" She smiled at him, and he practically had to muffle a longing sigh.

She's got such big, gorgeous lips… he thought, loathing himself for noticing. He realized that if he was going to try to stifle these bizarre impulses, he really shouldn't have asked for an impromptu fashion show. But hey, no going back now. He might as well take it like a man! He sat on the edge of the bed and gave her his most innocent smile.

Later that night, Dewey rolled over on the sofa-bed, wincing at the loud creaks that the slightest motion on his part caused. Grateful as he was for someplace to stay, this bed achieved only a very sub-par comfort level. Hoping to calm his frazzled nerves, he walked over to the stereo to play some soothing tunes… like Iron Maiden or something.

Just as he was about to hit the "Play" button, he realized that Rosalie (and the entire building, most likely) was asleep. He grunted irritably and looked around for some other form of entertainment. TV, maybe… but no, Roz only had basic cable, so he couldn't watch the only channel he enjoyed (VH1 Classic, naturally). He fell back on his usual form of entertainment—playing guitar, though he had to settle for keeping it unplugged. He strummed, then attempted some riffs and picking, then busted into a solo, which usually would have made him feel great. Without distortion or amplification, however, he just felt sort of deprived. Repressed. Emasculated, even! This was depressing.

I'll just plug it in but keep it really quiet. No distortion! he thought, glancing guiltily over both shoulders before plugging the chord into the amp. He strummed a chord. This was better! A few minutes later, he added a slight touch of distortion. Just to round out the sound, I'll keep it on the down-low!

Rosalie's eyes slid open, squinting into the darkness. What was that sound? Music? From where? Her neighbors were never this loud…

She closed her eyes and pushed her face into the pillow, deciding to try to sleep regardless of the racket. She was pretty tired, after all. The attempt proved unsuccessful, and just as she was preparing to leap out of bed and go pound on the offending neighbor's door, she realized that the noise was very close to her room. Practically right outside the door, even.

A burglar! A kidnapper! she thought frantically. A murderer! Then she sheepishly realized that no half-decent lawbreaker would be serenading his victim before attack. And then she realized who the disturber of the peace was.

Just as he seared out a blistering riff, Dewey was startled by the door just a few feet away from him flying open. Rosalie stood in the doorway, in full principal rage mode, her glasses sliding down on her nose and her short, usually smooth hair in a mussed fashion.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, her face a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. Dewey looked around and realized that he hadn't kept his resolution to keep the distortion and volume low. As he'd played, he'd thoughtlessly turned the knobs up to best effect, completely forgetting where he was. Rock had a transporting effect, after all.

"I… couldn't sleep?" he said lamely. Rosalie rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

"Why did I ever say you could stay here? I mean really, you're completely insane, so WHY?" Exhaustion lent boldness to her speech, and she stared at him accusingly.

"Ahhh… because I'm so cute?" he babbled, then winced as he realized that joking around was not the best option for this situation.

"Go to bed, Dewey," she sighed, rubbing her forehead with her hand and slowly turning to go back into the bedroom.

"Rooooz!" he moaned. "Aw, Roz… Rosalie… Miss Mullins, whatever, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be loud, I was gonna be like totally silent, I just got kind of carried away. Please don't be mad?" He reached out and grabbed her arm, and she turned almost unwillingly to face him. He really didn't want to get himself kicked out… or make her hate him!

"I'm not mad, just please be quiet. I need sleep so much, and I don't want my neighbors to kill me…" She was visibly disintegrating into stress personified, and Dewey felt massively guilty for causing the transformation.

"Aw, it's OK, calm down, girl!" He put both his hands on her shoulders and tried to give her an encouraging smile, and he felt her relax a little. "You can still get sleep, and if I make any more noise, I grant you the right to personally come out here and beat me down, OK?"

She smiled a little, melting as easily as she always seemed to when he turned on the old charm. "Sorry I called you insane…"

"It's fine, insane is a total understatement! All the best rock stars are completely unhinged." He nodded and wiggled his eyebrows. She smiled again, and before Dewey knew what he was doing, his hands that had remained on her shoulders slid down and clasped her fingers.

The two stood like that for a moment, face to face but silent, and then she pulled her hands away, muttered "Good night", and hastily stepped through the door and closed it.

Dewey collapsed onto the couch, confused and strangely alert. There went his chance of sleeping well that night!

When Rosalie woke up, Dewey was conked out on the sofa-bed, stretched out diagonally with a foot off one end and an arm hanging off the other. She envied the fact that his after-school program didn't start until the afternoon, allowing him to sleep in as late as he wanted, while she hauled her tired self out of bed at 6:30. She got ready quietly, stepping over the guitars and suitcases that seemed to have taken over the apartment. That was Dewey—coming in, making a mess, complicating things, and just when you wanted to hate him… being sweet. He was surely the most frustrating guy she'd ever met.

She gave the leg of his foldout bed a vindictive kick as she passed by, then immediately felt guilty. Dewey barely seemed to notice; he just rolled over and muttered something about Ace Frehley.

When she finally got home from school that evening, Dewey popped out of the living room as soon as she opened the door. "Hey, Roz! Gig tonight! Wanna come?" "What?"

"We've got a show tonight! Wanna come?"

"Uh… sure! Can I eat first though?"

"There's food at the place, come on, gotta go!" He grabbed her hand to hurry her out the door, then had a sudden flashback to the uncomfortable night before and quickly let go. He examined Rosalie's face to see if she'd noticed anything, but she just set down her bag of paperwork and followed him out the door with a slightly annoyed sigh.

"Can't I even change clothes? I mean, where is this thing?"

"Some restaurant, bar, club, kind of deal…" Dewey muttered vaguely.

"Dewey!"

He looked up in surprise.

"I can't wear this to a bar!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's boring!"

Dewey's face took on a puzzled frown and he tilted his head. She was wearing… well, exactly what she was always wearing. Except for last night, of course, when she'd worn… wait, he was trying to forget about all the weirdness of the night before. "Ah… it is?" he finally said.

"Yes! I'm aware of the fact that I dress like a prude, but even I can manage something better than this for a bar!" She whirled around and ran back into the apartment.

"But… it's a restaurant too! Roz, we're gonna be late…" Dewey whined.

"Just a minute!" she yelled. She was in the bedroom by this time, rifling through the newly organized rack in her closet.

"Hey, I've got an idea!" Dewey called, a devilish grin taking possession of his face as he raced into the apartment after her. He barged into the bedroom, and she jumped.

"Dewey! I could have been changing!"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry," he said. That you weren't! he added in his head.

"What is it?"

"Let me pick what you should wear!"

"What?"

"Yeah! I saw all your clothes last night, let me help!"

"Ah, I don't know if that's a good idea…"

"Sure it is! Here you can wear this"—he snatched up the short skirt that had awed him the night before—"and this shirt over here!" He grabbed a gauzy shirt that had a distinct Stevie Nicks vibe, and was therefore sure to help his case a little.

"That?" Rosalie looked a little sick.

"Yeah! It's hot!"

"I don't know if I wanna be hot, Dewey." She straightened her hair and pushed up her glasses, crossing her arms across her chest in defensive fashion.

Too late! he thought. "Sure you do!" he said. "It will look great, come on, put them on!" He shoved the garments into her hands. "Oh, and THESE shoes!" He produced a pair of stilettos.

"No! No way!" She looked at the shoes in apparent horror.

"Yes! Come on! Please?"

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Why do you care?"

Crap! Pull back, pull back! he thought anxiously. "I care becaaaaaause… well, I don't care! Never mind! Wear what you want!" He fled.

Dewey's being so weird lately! Rosalie thought, staring after the pudgy musician with a look of completely bemusement. She looked down at the clothes she was holding. They were things that she'd bought but never worn, visible representations of the big gap between what she was and what she wished she was, between the boring, mean principal and the normal, cool (maybe hot?) woman. In short, they were depressing her.

She shoved the clothes into the closet haphazardly, then pulled them back out as she realized that she really shouldn't start messing up the closet again already. She picked up the clothes again and took a deep breath.

Dewey was pacing back and forth in the living room, hoping he hadn't given away too much of what he'd been thinking. What the heck was he thinking? How could he like Miss Mullins? She was a spawn of THE MAN, practically the polar opposite of everything that appealed to him, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. He actually liked how she was always flustered, how she tried to hard to keep herself in line but surprised him every now and then, exposing some vestige of coolness or humor that she tried so hard to hide. But would she ever like him? And even if she did, how could they ever get along? He was kind of out of practice in the dating area, anyway.

Man, is she ever gonna come out of there? he thought, chasing away the serious thoughts with more immediate ones.

"Roz? Are you almost ready?" he called, cautiously tapping on the door.

"Here I am!" The door flew open so fast that he jumped. The sight that emerged floored him.

Rosalie was wearing the outfit he'd suggested, plus some kind of sparkly eye stuff and a weird but oddly flattering gloss on the admired lips. Her ever-present small spectacles were gone. She almost strutted as she stepped through the doorway. She looked like a completely different person, and her behavior just reinforced that impression.

She tilted her head and gave him a charming smile. "I'm ready, let's go!" She breezed through the room with this air of confidence that he'd never seen her display before. What had happened? He began imagining scenarios of pod people and body snatchers.

"Dewey? Are you coming?"

"Uh… yeah! Let's go! Let's… rock!" Dewey cried, trying to capture his usual musical fervor so that she wouldn't suspect how profoundly this change had affected him.

"Yeah, let's rock," she replied, bobbing her head in an almost cocky manner.

Dewey had to smother a laugh at her newly acquired "cool" vocabulary. She certainly did offer a lot of surprises lately!

A/N: DANG, THIS CHAPTER IS LONG! What do y'all think? The next chapter will be very fabulous, I promise! And after two more chapters of this, I will move on to my first kid story! Please review!

"I Believe in a Thing Called Love" is written and performed by the Darkness.