A/N: First of all, thank you SO MUCH for your reviews, y'all. They seriously make my day and make me want to keep writing. You guys are all so awesome!
I'm trying to update as quickly as possible for you! I'm also working on two other writing projects at the moment, so things are kinda hectic with those, as well.
I know exactly what's going to happen in the next chapter! I was inspired...my roommate rented The Notebook last night, so I'm definitely feeling the romantic vibes. Nicholas Sparks writes a good love story, huh?

Disclaimer: I don't own the Ducks, blah blah blah. Don't sue me!

I wake up to Nirvana's "The Man Who Sold The World," and am confused for a minute, until I realize it's just my phone. I check the display. Fulton. I yawn before answering.

"I forgive you." Well. He sounds pleasant enough, considering the argument we got into last night.

I'm appropriately chagrined. "I'm sorry. I was mad at Charlie and I took it out on you. It wasn't your fault."

"I said I forgive you." He sounds slightly annoyed, and I can picture him on the other end, rolling his eyes. "Have you talked to Charlie yet?"

"I just woke up," I answer. "I don't even know what time he got home."

"You might want to talk to him," he says. "And then talk to Averman."

"Why?"

"I know the whole story, what's going on with you guys. You need to dialogue."

I'm surprised. "How do you know the whole story?" I demand.

Fulton laughs. "I know everything, dude. I'm hanging up now," he cautions. "Go talk to them. Then call me or come over or something, okay?"

I agree and hang up the phone.

After I shower and dress, I give Charlie only a cursory knock on his door before entering his room.

Still in bed, he's not happy about my intrusion. "What if I was naked or something?"

Gross. I shrug. "Then you'd learn to keep your door locked," I respond. I cross over to his desk and pull out his chair, shoving aside a pile of dirty clothes so I can sit down. "You need to do some serious laundry," I inform him.

He groans and throws a pillow at me. "I liked it better when you were mad at me."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

"You should be," Charlie says. "You didn't even let me tell you the whole story."

I lean forward. "So tell me now," I suggest. "What exactly happened?"

Charlie shakes his head. "Nothing, really," he says, eliciting a sigh from me. He sits up. "I'm serious. We were just sitting there, watching you dance, and Averman said something about how nice you looked or something..."

I have to interrupt. "What did he say?"

"I don't know," he says. "Something like, 'Wow, Maggie's looking pretty hot tonight,' I think. You're just my sister," he points out. "What do I care?"

I throw his pillow back at him. "Continue."

"Right. So I told him that he should tell you that, and he was like, 'No, I don't think so.' So I said, 'Well, you know, she's crazy about you.'"

I bury my face in my hands. "You didn't," I groan. Except I know he did, given the rest of the previous night's events, and I've come too far now to leave without hearing the rest of the story. "So what did he say?"

Charlie shrugs. "He didn't really say anything at first, just kinda looked at you for a while. Then finally he just said that knowing that changes everything, and he said he needed to talk to you alone. That's why I left to go buy you a pop, so you guys could talk."

"Soda," I correct automatically.

"Maggie," he practically yells, "perspective, okay? That's not the important part!"

"Sorry," I say, contrite. Sheesh. But he's right, I know. The logical part of my brain is struggling to realize the enormity of what's just been said, while the part of my brain that never tells me to think before I speak is ready to celebrate. This is huge.

My brother nods. "It is huge." He repeats the words I wasn't aware that I had spoken. "You're welcome."

I stand up and stretch. "Thank you, Charlie." I turn towards the door. "I have to go talk to him," I say, as I walk out of his room.

I'm in my car and have driven halfway to Averman's house before my nervousness catches up with me. Suddenly, I don't think I can do this. I make a U-turn and drive back to my house. I pull back into the driveway and head back on up to my bedroom. I pass Charlie on his way to the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Going back to bed," I answer. "I've had a long day."

He grabs my wrist to check my watch. "Maggs. It's ten-thirty."

"Yeah, well," I say, pulling back my arm, "I got up early."

He looks at me, his eyes narrowed. "You chickened out, didn't you?"

I lower my eyes. "Doesn't matter," I mumble.

Charlie disappears into his room. "Wait here," he instructs. When he returns a minute later, he looks smug. I know that look. That's the same look he wore when I was eight and he bet me five dollars I wouldn't pour maple syrup in our babysitter's shoes. That's the same look he wore when I was twelve and he convinced me that walking the neighbor's dog while riding my bike wasn't as bad an idea as our mom thought. It's the same look he wears whenever he's up to something.

I look at him, suspicious. "What did you just do?"

"I just called Averman. He's expecting you, so you'd better get a move on." He gives me a gentle push in the direction of the staircase.

"Charlie..." I protest.

He doesn't give in. "I'm doing you a favor," he says. "If I didn't call him for you, you'd never talk about this. Ever."

He's right, I know, so I suppose I can't really complain. I do anyway, hollering up the stairs as I make my way back to the car.

I see him leaning out of his window as I'm backing out onto the street. I roll my window down. "What do you want now?"

"I just wanted to wish you good luck!" he yells down to me. He holds his hand up. He's got his fingers crossed for me.

"Thanks, I guess!" I call back. I cross my fingers, too. Good luck? I think I'm going to need it.