The next couple weeks may be some slower updates, but I'll try my best.

I loved hearing about how you guys loved the Allan angst. I can assure you there will be more of it in upcoming chapters.

And yeah, let me just remind ya'll there will be more chapters like the last one, a different POV other than Chase or Christine's. Just a little reminder.

October 4th 2013

Christine's Pov

I peeled my orange, sticking a juicy piece of fruit into my mouth. Today lunch was slower, a bit more sluggish than normally. Maybe it was the absence of at least half our group; Rachel and Sammie were in lunch detention because, god forbid, they asked to leave the room because it was too loud.

There sub for History is way too strict.

Or maybe it was because of Chase and how he was across the table, avoiding making solid eye contact with me instead of right by my side, kissing my neck like usual.

I didn't know how much longer I could put up with his strange attitudes. I mean, really. If he kept up the sudden mood swings much longer, I'd be able to call him worse than Rachel—something you definitely didn't want to be.

In a way, it was like we were both trying to wear the pants of the relationship at the same time—in the end, all we get is dresses.

I was going to get to the bottom of this.

Finishing off the last of orange and gulping down the rest of Coke with determination, I get up from my seat; fix my shorts and leggings, before walking over to my boyfriend. He sensed me coming toward him, but did a shockingly good job at hiding it. Didn't move a muscle. I have to admit I found that just a little bit impressive.

But it wouldn't work—not today.

"You, mister, are coming with me," I announced firmly, although authority had never been my forte. I'd been planning on the one with all the heavy lifting of getting Chase to agree to go anywhere with me, so imagine my surprise when he's the one dragging me out into the hallway.

"Okay, are you finally going to tell what's been nesting in your boxers the whole weekend or what?" I crossed my arms and stare him down. I realized that, yeah, I sounded a bit like a demanding brat, but no girlfriend liked when her boyfriend kept things from her. This was the consequences.

He could tell I was mad but didn't let his look at me—to me I should say—waver. "It's about Callan."

I knew it; ever since he'd stormed out of the auditorium so quickly on our last buddy round, I knew it had something to do with Callan. And I'm not an idiot - I saw all the staring contests going on between those to. But me being the naive person I am, thought it was just a little closing jealously, but would bubble down to nothing.

How wrong I was.

"What about him?" I asked, sounding a bit defensive to myself. I inwardly groaned and hoped Chase wouldn't notice and turn it into something bigger than it was. With Callan being my leading man in this stupid play (you know, I'm starting to think I wouldn't be as stressed as I was if the play just use all its scrap money for the art room instead of funding for that stupid play), it was maybe a bit of a given that I was defending him. Just like I would if I were to have this conversation about Chase. It was in my nature by default.

Sure we'd have to share a couple kisses now and then, but that totally wasn't my fault. I'd gone to Alissa a handful of times about the awkwardness kissing someone other than my boyfriend would cause, but she didn't see the importance of the topic. I just had to live with it; just like Chase had to.

My only concern was his jealousy convincing him to do something way worse than me simply pecking another guy's lips with absolutely no feeling behind it. But that'd be ridiculous, wouldn't it?

Of course it would.

"If this is about the play, I already told you I tried to wiggle my way out of it or couldn't," I stated. It was true—we had breached to topic of Alissa's stubbornness a couple times, but only briefly before continuing in conversation. "She's not going to change her mind."

Chase sighed, looking tired and raggedly good (damn him being able to do that to me) as he ran a hand through his hair. "This isn't about the play," he said. "Do ever notice how Callan…acts?"

While I'd been expecting the question, I'd been expecting it in a lot more of an angry fashion with plenty of shouting and tomato faces. But apparently, he was as tired of this as I was.

It felt good to know that we were on the same page again.

At least, in some way.

I let out a relieved breath I didn't know I had been holding. This wasn't what I was thinking of our little meeting in the hallway going, but I could deal with this too.

"I think he's fine," I replied, hands being shoved deep into my pockets. "Like I said, last year is in the past, Chase."

He sighed again—he was doing that too much for my liking. Out of discomfort, I let my nose scrunch up but tried to hide it. Doing that felt like an awkward itch I couldn't quite get. The feeling annoyed me to no end.

"Not what I meant," I heard him mumble and frowned in spite of myself. But Chase's darkened face seemed to wipe away as quickly as he realized I was able to hear him. "Listen, I'll meet at play practice, alright?"

I was about to object to his sudden leaving when he pulled me hard against his chest, our lips smashing together quick and hungrily before he pulled away, shot me a tiny, almost strained smile before hurrying off.

In other cases, I might've run after him to clear up this sudden weird behavior.

But damn my boyfriend and his stupid seductive lips paralyzing me to no end.

October 8th 2013

Like I may have mentioned before, my boyfriend's mood swings were switching up astoundingly.

Because of last week, I tried to let Chase have his space except for the most important of emergencies (which is the serious code for major homework crash and burnage). Instead I relied on Bree. But for being the sister, she wasn't much help. For the life of me, she wouldn't get her head of that book for two seconds; it was shocking she even remembered to breathe.

"Sorry," she'd apologized Sunday night. "Once I start reading a good book, I'm gone for weeks at a time."

That would explain why she growled at anyone who wanted her attention on the car ride to Disney World. Man, was she obsessed with that Maximum Ride book.

(She managed to read the entire series in a week—just a little fun fact. I didn't know her super speed worked with reading, or maybe she was just really hooked; like I know.)

But Monday, Chase couldn't stop smiling. Between classes and at lunch, before and after school, he wouldn't let his lips leave mine. And while I appreciate the fact he found making out with me amazing and all, a girl had to breathe at some point.

It was after school at a shortened rehearsal, the sets for all the major scenes pretty much done and working, that I got a little suspicious. Earlier that day I'd ask Rachel her point of view from all this—leaving out the part of him PMSing more that she does, obviously—and something she said stunned me in the slightest.

"Girls act differently for attention, so why can't boys?"

It was then that I had asked her to clarify, and she went into kindergarten teacher mode, the same tone she used on Adam when explaining something she knew he wouldn't get. I'd felt offended, but kept my mouth shut as she continued on.

"Chase is feeling abandon, replaced by Callan, who is playing you leading man. And seriously, let's be real here for a moment—what boyfriend wouldn't be jealous of a blond Aussie jock with amazing abs?"

Needless to say, Rachel wasn't that big of a help.

I tried to shake these thoughts away. Dwelling over that wasn't going to solve anything.

The balcony stairs were really just a ladder taken from the janitor's closet down the hall, painted to look fancy. I didn't think it was such a good idea to climb it when the paint was only partially dried; my sneakers required a little extra effort upon getting stuck in a small string of paint. But I wasn't about to complain—the last thing I needed was someone biting my head off.

Once reaching the top, I was wary about the height. I wasn't afraid of heights, but I didn't particularly like being up high either.

From up high, I could see everything—even a couple yards into both wings. Bree was in the west wing, clipboard in hand as she looked perplexedly at one of the tech nerds holding a bunch of wires.

All the actors and understudies were on or in the audience (mostly the understudies). Stray scripts lay everywhere, Alissa busy with a group of couples—and, surprisingly, a couple ecstatic looking boys holding bundles of fabric—doing a couple of stressed gestures before shooing them off towards the Home EC classroom. They must be the designers.

Gripping the splintery railing, I looked down to the platform. I heard from a couple people talking about it that it hadn't been used for a good handful of years; that was just lovely.

Callan was almost directly below, flipping briefly through the middle of his script. "It is the east and Juliet is the sun!" he cried, hands sweeping up high above his head. I couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous he looked, with his faux serious face, pursed and snotty lips. It was quite the sight.

It's such a shame that even that had a way of dampening Chase's mood. I didn't mean to do so, but looking over from my spot high above the stage, catching the wary glances from Bree that were obviously signaled to Chase, and his shaking fists and fuming eyes proved I did so.

I hoped that it wouldn't affect the rehearsal.

Fortunately it didn't. But he avoided walking with Bree and I on the way home, several yards ahead of us and moving faster than us. I'd deal with him tomorrow—try to confront his weird, out of whack mood swings once and for all.

When I got home, everything was in its natural order of settling silence. Dad was, surprisingly, sort of dressed and sitting at the table, nursing what I could tell was a cold cup of coffee (lukewarm at best). He could've been sitting like that for hours. He at least ditched his bathrobe for a pair of grass stained pants and a brick red shirt with a suspicious yellow stain on the collar.

When I walked closer to him, it was evident that he needed a good three hour shower; I envied Rem for her not having a sense of smell.

"Hey, Dad," I greeted with a generous smile, wanting to drop off my thing upstairs before attempting to not burn a decent dinner; maybe we could just have cereal or toast. It was hard to mess up toast. "Looking"—I tapped, my foot as I looked for the proper word—"how you doing?"

Dad looked up from his coffee, holding up his half empty cup like I was just now seeing it. He needed a shave, too. "There's a pot of coffee on the counter," he said.

Dad must've been really out of it today, because he never let me have real coffee—and he knew I thought the way he drank it was gross; just black. So disgusting, how could he handle the horrid taste?

"I think I'll pass." I waved off his offer and went upstairs, carefully putting my stuff away this time; I felt like a change for once. I left my script out and tossed it on my bed for a little more studying later. Sometimes I liked to compare it to the original and just laugh at how atrocious it was. I might have mentioned it to Dad once or twice, but he was probably too out of it to listen.

He was starting to worry me. Don't get me wrong, I've been worried all along, but it's been nearly a month. This little act without reason unexplained was getting a bit ridiculous and old to me. It was a real problem—that much I could see—but I wasn't going to spend New Year's with this act hanging over the whole house and depressing everyone's moods.

Rem gave me a look once I came out of my room. I hadn't said anything to her yet when I came from school, but she knew me well enough to know I had something planned, even if she didn't know what it was.

"Just make sure you don't make a huge mess," is all she would give before whirring off towards the plants.

I sighed and bounded down the stairs.

"Why don't you date yet?" The question caught him off guard, looking up so fast from his coffee that his hands shook and several drops of dark liquid dotted the counter.

"Excuse me?"

I shrugged, grabbing the rag that was slung over the edge of the kitchen sink. I wrung it out and wiped at the coffee dots on the counter. "Why haven't you had a girlfriend?"

"The same reason you didn't have a boyfriend until now," Dad said.

"Grandma gave you an age limit?"

"Of sorts." I'd give her a call later tonight to find that he wasn't lying. "And you have to actually like someone to date them, Christine."

I knew that, but bit my tongue. "So, get back into the game. I hear there are some truly productive matchmaker sites out there that are just calling your name."

Dad let out a weak, strained chuckle. I appreciated his efforts, but pitied them all the same. "Nice try, kid. But it's a little too late for me."

He walked off, leaving me to sit and think. He was only thirty-five. Sure, he was middle-aged, but some middle-aged lady could find that appealing. Or, a college student.

I was getting desperate.

This a late update, but I've been busy all week with my birthday and this damn cough that I hope leaves soon.

I deleted the covers I had up briefly for FL and LL because they were truly terrible so I am going to work on some new ones and have them up sometimes soon, hopefully.

The next update will probably be a week's wait, but I think you guys can handle it.

In other news, a new iCarly story (Seddie) by me will be up tomorrow night and the updates will be fast. It's my first iCarly story so go easy on me if you read it after I have it published.