Hey people who are reading this. Some of you are saying you want Spike to be in the story. And I agree-Spike is really hot. But I'm not going to give away future chapters by saying whether he is or not in the story. You'll just have to wait and see! :D

Christine's Pov

I still felt giddy and jittery all over by the next afternoon. I'd just got off the phone with Bree (under the name Briana on my phone). Rem had turned on the radio, needing something to listen to while she cleaned out the fridge. I hummed along to Payphone and flipped my Tiger Beat issue carelessly-I'd read so many times already.

"Do you know when dad's supposed to be home?" I called to Rem, eyeing a picture of Cody Simpson in my magazine, the likeness between someone I knew and he was bugging me.

Just when I heard Rem's mechanic whir coming closer, dad walked through the door with a bag in hand and some files nestled under his arm.

"Hey bud," he greeted, using one of my old nicknames.

"Hey dad," I responded. Dad might've been forbidding one of the best relationships of my life just because of some stupid rivalry-slash-bad blood between the dads…but I've never been able to stay angry with him for long. "What's that?" I asked curiously, throwing the magazine aside and staring at the paper bag he had in his hands.

Dad shrugged off his coat-I don't even want to know where he hid all that sweat from wearing a lab coat around the clock-and placed it on the kitchen table. Rem shot him a look (I'm assuming, even after all these years, it's hard to tell what kind of looks she gave whoever.) from dirtying the counter she'd just wiped off but went back to watering the hanging plants.

"I've been thinking about everything lately," dad began, pulling item after item out of the bag. I rubbed my lips together; for dad, thinking about everything can mean from me to the mass of Pluto.

"Like what kind of everything?" I asked, walking over to the counter and swinging me onto a bar stool.

Dad hid a carton behind his back like he used to do when I was a kid-a guessing game we played whenever he got me something from the store, ranging from candy bars to a late dinner.

"Didn't you say this was your favorite juice?" dad said instead, changing the subject and setting the juice carton in front of me.

My eyes widened as I read the title and saw my dad search for a glass. "You got me pineapple mango juice?" I trilled in excited. "I haven't had that in forever."

"I know," dad said vaguely. I eyed the cup he poured it in. I don't remember ever seeing a color faded cup like the one he gave me, but I also saw him pull it out of the bag as well. "How much you want?"

"Half empty," I said, shrugging off the cup for now.

Dad chuckled. "That's a sign of a pessimist," he stated.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm half pessimist, half optimist." I grabbed the cup and took a slow sip being shouting, "Thanks, dad," and walking back to the couch and continuing reading my magazine.

"What's for dinner?" dad called out to Rem. She responded with something about a type of tropical salad with a spicy Mexican dish. Dad loved the tropics, claiming some of the best years of his life happened on tropical islands during his studies, and I loved Mexican and basically any type of spicy food. Usually, Rem read up on different exotic recipes and tested them on us during lunch and dinner.

I was sometimes told that I looked Mexican, or at least from Spanish decent. Dad told me that my mom had been from Spanish decent because of her father.

"Dad," I called out, "I'm feeling tired. I think I'm going to take a nap before dinner. Shout when it's ready."

I barely heard him reply as I stumbled upstairs. I'd never been that tired after drinking the juice. Rem told me that it always made me more hyper when I was a kid. Sighing, I shrugged off my cardigan and kicked off my slippers before falling onto the soft sheets quilt, not bothering to even crawl underneath them. The fresh smell of vanilla from when Rem last washed them clung to my nose as I drifted off. My head heavy and senses drowsy.

No One's Pov

He waited.

Three minutes…

Five minutes…

Seven minutes…

He always waited seven minutes. After taking a deep breath and pushing away all the heavy guilt that camped in his gut, he silently snuck up to her room. He really shouldn't sneak-his daughter could sleep through anything.

Rem watched as he crept into Christine's room, bag in hand and files present. She sighed, the sound close to a voice whirring in a fan.

Christine slept peacefully, mind clouded and heavy as she was unaware of her father flipping her onto her stomach. His scanner beamed a brilliant flashing read, words dancing across the screen. ACTIVATED, the screen screamed at him, the bold letters blinking furiously in warning. Silently, he cursed. Fingers dancing across the small keypad, he typed in a command, the scanning process restarting.

"Nearly overloaded," he cursed, frowning in concentration. "Turn it back on later tonight."

Sighing in relief at his quick fix, he left, leaving her to finish her nap; the pills should be wearing off soon anyway.

Quietly closing her bedroom door, Rem greeted him with a hard stare. "She'll have to eventually," she scolded, her humming growing insistent. "You can't keep her as your secret experiment forever. She's a teenage girl-don't you think she has enough problems already?"

Alan sighed; his face sagging and eyes hardening, aging quickly. "I know," he said in defeat with his shoulders tensing. "But right now isn't the best time. She's already mad about me and whoever."

"Because you don't see it," Rem hissed quietly in exasperation. "That boy is the first one who didn't break her heart. You need to let go of the past and focus on what's right for Christine-your daughter."

Rem whirred away, leaving Alan alone in the hall to sigh.

Christine's Pov

"Do you ever get that really weird feeling when you're asleep?" I asked Rachel's image on my laptop. "Like when you're kind of asleep and kind of not and everything's happening that you know would never happen when you're awake?"

Rachel's forehead creased as she thought, tapping her nails against her desk. "Not really," she shrugged, "I don't really focus on my dreams that much."

I sighed and leaned back on the wall next to my bed. My nap had been troubling me since dinner. I heard voices; Dad and Rem talking about someone….someone like me.

"Maybe I'm thinking about this too much," I decided finally, letting my thoughts slow and quit their steadfast churning in my head. "It's probably nothing."

"Well you could have said that before you wasted fifteen minutes of my time!" Rachel cried out. "I thought this was serious since you always call me. The Bachelor is on and I'm sacrificing my seeing it for you!"

I poked my tongue out at her. "We both know you have the whole series recorded on your box in your room for when you don't want to study," I pointed out. "So technically, you aren't missing anything."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You know, sometimes your know-it-all moments really bug me."

"But you love me anyway."

"Whatever."

We said good-bye and promised to talk tomorrow at school. I shut my laptop closed and leaned me head and sighed. The whole nap thing was really bugging me. Finally, I crawled underneath the sheets, staring up at the ceiling before drifting into a fitful sleep.

Sorry for the shortness. But I needed to do something to keep you interested and this is what we came up with. Review and tell us thoughts. Stay tuned for the next chapter! :)