Hey lovely readers. So judging on your reactions to the last chapter, we didn't disappoint. I promise this next chapter will be longer, but I can't tell you by how much.

No One's Pov

Everything was still. Christine knew everything was over. The chances of Chase making a good impression on Rem had been likely, but her father was whole different story. Those chances had been slim, but now-especially when he had caught them under no adult supervision, on a bed, kissing- that sliver of a positive impression had slipped out the window.

"It's not what it looks like," she cried, the two teens jumping away from each other. Chase almost toppled over the edge of the bed in his rush to scoot away.

"So not what it looks like!" echoed Chase nervously, pulling at his clothes. He pondered whether or not he should just get up and slip out the door, but was too paralyzed with humiliation to move anyway.

"How many times have I told you to clean up this horrendous mess?" Mr. Grant lectured, his narrowed eyes taking in the unmade bed and random discarded clothing items strewn across the room. "I thought we discussed you were going to fix your cleaning habits at this house!"

Christine wanted to laugh. Her dad had been focused on her messy room, not her and Chase. She let out a relieved sigh. "Sorry dad," she apologized, but was too happy to mean it. "I'll clean it later tonight.

She always knew her father oblivious maner would come in handy to her someday.

"It better be," the man sighed, surveying the room once more. It had been a month since they moved and Already his daughter had wrecked her room from whatever teenage girls did with their clothes. He had bad feeling for whoever Christine's husband was going to be.

And speaking of boys...

"Who's he?" Mr. Grant asked, whipping his head to Chase, who had been sitting so deep in thought he nearly jumped a foot in the air from the man's startling words.

Chase's Pov

"Is he a friend of yours?" Mr. Grant continued, spewing out questions faster than we could answer them. (Scientists usually don't wait for an answer half the time though. They think of one themselves the dig deeper to see if it's true.) It's not that we had any answers. The truth seemed lethal and lying would cause more problems and leave the wrong impression-and that would help nothing.

"I'm stilling waiting," Mr. Grant pointed out impatiently. His foot started to tap and he crossed his arms over his chest. With his serious (and puzzled) expression, broad shoulders and stick-straight posture, he was quite intimidating. But in certain ways, Mr. Grant reminded me of Mr. Davenport.

"Uh," Christine began, lookig at everything-from her mirror, to me, to her clothes, to the walls and posters-except her father. I may not be a normal teenager, but I can pick up quickly enough that this is the best tactic for avoiding your real thoughts to be reaveled to your parents. If your true emotions were reaveled to your parents however, we wouldn't be in such a rough spot right now anyway.

"Dad-my boyfriend, Chase," she introduced quickly. It was obvious she mushed her words together so they couldn't be understood. It didn't work out well.

Instantly, his focus is snapped back to me and my nerves jumble together, never to become undone easily again. The feeling of my legs was gone and I felt my skin start to prickle with sweat. Had the room always been this warm? "Is this true?" Mr. Grant asked strenly, my scattered feelings unnoticed by him. That should be a good thing-he might find my fear of him offensive and that would help nothing.

I resorted to bobbing my head up and down, stopping when my head feel heavy and dizzy. This is not my best experience. "It is," my throat managed to bubble out, working on it's own. "We're together."

For a moment, everything goes silent. The air is still. Everyone had their emotions out on broadcast: Christine looked anxious, fidgeting with her bracelets and crossing and uncrossing her legs every time she moved; I was positive my fear was noted; Mr. Grant seemed to be flickering between two different feelings I couldn't detect.

I hated that I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Christine must've felt the same way too, feeling it was taking so long for him to say anything. "Well?" she asked impatiently-something that they most obviously shared.

Mr. Grant turned on his heel, lab coat swishing. "Come downstairs so we can dicuss it." The way he said it so simply, we both knew there was no room for arguement.

Rem was busy running around the room, cleaning and dusting everything to perfection. I know that Christine said she was a maid and a friend-she was holding something back. Whether she knew it or not, I knew Rem was taking place of an important figure that was missing in her life.

Mr. Grant seemed to be the same way too, dependant on Rem with things he would depend a wife on. I still remember what Christine said about her mom.

"Classified."

Everything was oddly silent as we ate. Christine kept glancing back and forth between her father and I; Mr. Grant was focusing on everything but us; I was just eating, trying not to make anything more awkward than it already was.

"So," Mr. Grant drawled, trying to lighten the mood. "How long have you guys been dating?"

Christine nearly choked. I was sure my eyes were out of there sockets. (Though physically impossible.) But he just continued to wait for one of us to explain. I actually hadn't been keeping track of the days, no matter how much of a bad boyfriend that made me sound like. And evn though I'm a bionic super computer (thank Bree, Adam, and Leo for that lovely nickname.)-as cheesy as it sounds-Christine made me forget everyday it had been and just the moments.

Apparently she had been-more or less-experiencing the same problem because she scooted her chair closer to mine and hissed, "I haven't been keeping track!" Now most boyfriends would feel offended when their girlfriend syas that, but now all I felt was relief that I wasn't the only one of our relationship.

But Rem, thank God, was watering a hanging plant by the porch door that was by the dining room and had been over hearing our conversation. "Christine, dear, didn't you say something about your first date being two weeks ago?" she asked casually, moving on to another hanging plant with a soft whirring sound.

"Uh, yeah!" Christine agreed cheerfully while scooting her chair away from mine again. "And Chase asked me to be his girlfriend a couple days after because he wanted to make sure I was ready to be with him." She smiled at me sweetly, which I gladly returned.

Mr. Grant seemed to like that, as he looked at me with approval. "And you swear you won't rush her into anything?" he asked sternly. Not that I can blame him for being worried. From what Christine has hinted in multiple games of 20 Questions, secret note exchangings and late night texts conversing, her last boyfriend had broken her heart and she still hasn't fully repaired. And I vowed to myself I wouldn't be one to break it again.

"I swear on my life, Mr. Grant." I looked him dead in the eye kept my voice serious and firm. "I will everything to keep her from getting hurt." So I may be book smart and didn't have as much strength as Adam had and probably never will, but I do know how to keep someone happy and apparently, I kow how to keep a girl more more than a week-despite what Adam and Leo would say.

The world seemed to pause as I waited for something: approval, good luck, a yelling, lecture, something as a response. Then he smiled. "Welcome to the family, son," Mr. Grant said happily. Christine flew out of her chair, it slamming to the ground and jumped on my lap, the chair tipping over and spilling us to the floor.

"This is amazing!" cried Christine as she hugged me tightly. "He approved!" I laughed and hugged her tightly. Right then, I had been feeling on top of the world; like everything was mine. And I should've been. Our parents agreed to let us date; everyone was happy for us; nothing could go wrong.

Until, of course, everything.

HONK!

"That's my ride," I exclaimed with my laughter present as I stood from the ground ad lending my girlfriend a hand.

"Your parents are picking you up?" Mr. Grant asked. "Cause I'd be more than happy to meet them."

"Sure," I said, watching him open the door as Mr. Davenport's lights faded and the car turned off. He and Tasha stepped out and came up the steps to meet half way.

Then everything went south.

"What's he doing here?" Mr. Grant asked sourly, his happy go-lucky aura fading and turning terribly bitter. Mr. Davenport seemed to do the same. His eyes darkened and jaw clenched in anger. I could already sense the bad blood between them and felt an awful feeling pull at my gut. Something big was about to happen and I nor Christine was going to like it.

"I'm here to pick up my son," Mr. Davenport said stiffly. Though from calling me his son or because of Mr. Grant I had no clue. "Please don't tell me Christine is your daughter?" The distain was so obvious my suspicions were confirmed.

"What's going on?" Christine asked, gripping my arm tightly, as if afraid to let go. I squeezed back to try and comfort her, but I was just as scared as she was. "Do you guys know each other?"

"You are not allowed to have any contact with Chase or any Davenports again whatsoever!" declared Mr. Grant. My eyes widened and Christine gaped at her father as if he split into two different people in front of her eyes. And at that moment, he might as well have.

"What?" she shrieked, grabbing onto me even more tightly. I was sure I felt her fingernails dig into my skin. "No way! I thought you said you like him!" Everything else happened in a blur. Mr. Davenport started shouting things about me never having contact with the Grants and that he will be arranging different school classes. Next thing I knew, Christine and I were being pulled apart.

"No!"

"Let me go!"

We kicked, screamed, cried over and over again. I thought I saw Rem peering out the window at us watching us fight to each other. "Chase!" Christine screamed, tears leaving salty tracks on her cheeks as her father lifted her off the ground despite her efforts at punching his shoulder. I knew from several piggyback rides to class, she didn't weigh anything over 95 pounds.

"Chrissy!" my escape efforts seemed to be working better, considering I was almost taller than Mr. Davenport and had a few pounds against him benefiting from natural good sized biceps and training. But he kept grabbing at my shoulder and attempting to lock my arm behind my back and shove me itno the car. His efforts weren't failing either.

Christine was pulled into the house by a apologetic looking Rem but her sobbing was still loud and was carried to where I was being shoved and seatbelt-ed into the car against my will. But I was panting and tired, thought I kept pulling at the car locks and pounding on the car window, screaming and shouting as he pulled out of the driveway and down the street.

I think this is the longest chapter yet! So were you surprised, or did you expect all this was going to happen? Leave your ideas and comments in a review and if you have any question or something we'll get back to you. :)