Author's Note: Hi, everyone, here is my re-upload of Chapter 2. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Meet the Robinsons or any of its characters. I only own my original characters, the Jacksons. :)
The next evening, Wilbur paced back and forth in the living room, a frown etched on his face as he loosened the collar on his crisp, white button-down shirt. It paired nicely with his smooth khaki pants. Although he looked pretty sharp, he felt sluggish. He really had no idea why his father had to go and invite more business partners over for dinner.
"I swear, if they're anything like the last lady who kept talking about her 'revolutionary toaster design,' I'm out," Wilbur muttered under his breath.
Just as he was about to slump onto the couch, he heard the familiar voice of his dad behind him.
"Wilbur, you're not seriously pouting about this dinner again, are you?"
Wilbur turned around, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't get it, Dad. You're already running a super successful business. You've got a bunch of cool stuff going on. Why do we have to do these fancy dinners just to impress your partners?"
Cornelius straightened his bowtie. "Rule Number One, Wilbur: First impressions are everything. And what better way to leave a lasting, first impression on your new partners than to host a nice dinner? Besides, I think you'll find this particular dinner a little more interesting than most."
Wilbur sighed boredly. "Oh? And why is that?"
"Well, the Jacksons are a rising name in the tech world," Cornelius explained. "They've got some incredible ideas on the horizon, and you never know what kind of inspiration you could get from a conversation with fresh talent."
Wilbur rolled his eyes. He really hoped the night wouldn't be full of boring business talk. "Can't we maybe mix a little, oh, I don't know, fun into this dinner?"
Cornelius raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. "Fun? You think I'm inviting the Jacksons over just for your entertainment?"
Wilbur grinned, shrugging. "I mean, if you're going to drag me into this, you could at least make it a little less painful. You know, an epic meatball battle? Maybe a dinosaur fight or two to really bring it all home?"
Cornelius shook his head, laughing softly. "You're lucky you have me for a dad. Most kids have to deal with boring adults who only talk about taxes and lawn care." He paused, looking at Wilbur seriously. "Trust me, it won't be that bad. And you might even find the Jacksons' daughter interesting."
Wilbur glanced off. "Yeah, right."
Before Cornelius could reply, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house, signaling the arrival of their guests. Wilbur's shoulders slumped.
"Well, looks like it's showtime," Wilbur muttered, turning towards the front door. "Let's just get this over with."
Cornelius gave Wilbur an encouraging pat on the back and walked to the front door (they'd given the family butler, Lefty, the night off. No need to scare off the guests with a giant octopus, right?). His wife, Franny, wearing another one of her lovely dresses, followed eagerly behind him. "Just remember, Son," Cornelius said, "it's all about making connections and keeping an open mind. Who knows? You might just be surprised."
Wilbur gave him a skeptical glance. "Sure. I'll try not to be too bored," he muttered under his breath.
Cornelius swung open the front door with his usual cheerful enthusiasm. "Ah, here they are!" he exclaimed, his voice warm and welcoming. "Eric! Michelle! So glad you could make it!"
Dr. Eric Jackson, tall with a poised demeanor, extended his hand to shake Cornelius's with a firm grip. "Cornelius! Thank you for having us," he said, his voice deep, measured, like a man accustomed to making impactful statements.
Behind Eric, his wife, Dr. Michelle Jackson, equally poised but with a softer warmth, offered Franny a friendly hug. "It's wonderful to see you both," she said, smiling broadly.
Amongst the commotion, a small, slender girl entered the Robinson house, her presence immediately noticeable. She was striking—her skin was the deep, rich shade of Nesquik chocolate milk, glowing under the soft, golden evening light. There was a quiet confidence in the way she held herself, the kind that didn't demand attention but still commanded it. Her dark brown eyes seemed to take everything in at once, sharp and observant, but with a hint of something else—something deeper, like she was always a few steps ahead of the conversation. Her hair, pressed and curled to perfection, swayed lightly as she moved, each step measured, yet effortless.
Wilbur felt a jolt in his chest as he watched her walk in. She wasn't just pretty—she was gorgeous, in a way that left him momentarily speechless. She wore a classy, royal blue dress, and her shoes, polished and stylish, clicked softly against the floor as she stepped into the house, each sound somehow grounding her amidst the madness of the Robinson home.
As she entered, she glanced around the chaotic space with a cool detachment, her eyes quickly assessing the scene. Wilbur's uncles, Art and Gaston, were already enthralled in a meatball fight of their own, and Aunt Billie was gearing up for another race with her "toy" train. Carl, in his usual state of anxiousness, was chasing after a spaghetti bowl that had somehow escaped the table. But none of it seemed to faze the Mystery Jackson Girl; if anything, she looked calmly intrigued, as though she were studying a novel science experiment.
Wilbur blinked, still processing the image of this girl, and before he could stop himself, his gaze lingered a little too long on her, and his pulse quickened. What is happening to me? He tore his eyes away from her and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of how messy it probably looked. Smooth, Wilbur. Real smooth.
The Mystery Jackson Girl's gaze shifted over to him, and their eyes locked for a brief, electric moment. Her expression was unreadable at first, as if she were sizing him up. Then, without breaking eye contact, her lips curled ever so slightly into a smile.
He felt a flutter in his stomach—Wait, why do I feel like I've just been caught staring? He quickly pulled his gaze away, fumbling for something—anything—to say.
"Uh, hey," he stammered, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm Wilbur Robinson. You know, the son. Heh."
There was a beat of silence before the Mystery Jackson Girl raised an eyebrow slightly, her lips still carrying that hint of a smile. She tilted her head just enough to make it clear she was paying close attention, a subtle but unmistakable sign that she was trying to gauge him, just as he was doing to her.
"Nice to meet you, Wilbur Robinson," she replied, her tone polite but cool, with just the slightest edge of amusement behind it. For some reason, hearing his full name cascade gracefully out of her mouth made his pulse quicken. "I'm Marlo," she continued. "Marlo Jackson." Then, in an attempt to match his sarcasm, she added, "You know, the daughter." A small smirk jumped onto her lips.
Marlo, Wilbur thought. So, that's her name. It was short and sweet, which, based on Marlo's appearance, seemed to suit her perfectly. He straightened up a little, trying to keep his composure. Play it cool, he told himself. He forced a smile, though it felt awkward and stiff.
While he stood there, frozen and too stunned to speak, Marlo's eyes traveled to his hair. In that moment, he felt a strange rush of heat to his face. She raised an eyebrow again, and without skipping a beat, her voice cut through the tension with a teasing lilt. "You okay there, Cowlick?" Her words were casual, but the teasing tone was unmistakable, and it made his heart race unexpectedly.
Wilbur froze. Cowlick? He wasn't sure if she was mocking him or just making an offhand comment, but either way, it completely threw him off. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out at first.
"What was that?" he asked, his voice coming out higher than he intended.
Marlo's eyes twinkled with something like mischief as she watched him struggle to catch up. Her lips twitched, like she was holding back a grin. "Your cowlick. I was just wondering if it plans on standing at attention all night," she teased, her gaze steady on his messy hair, the corner of her mouth threatening to pull into a smirk.
The comment made Wilbur's face heat up, and he suddenly became acutely aware of every little thing about himself. Great. Just great. Now she's thinking about my hair, and I can't even control this stupid cowlick. He awkwardly scratched the back of his head, trying and failing to smooth it down, only making it stick up more.
Before he could spiral into complete embarrassment, Cornelius appeared at his side, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Alright, everyone!" he said with his usual exuberance. "Let's head into the dining room! The food's almost ready, and we don't want to keep anyone hungry!"
Marlo gave him another look, this time more subtle, like she was enjoying watching him squirm just a little. She turned away from him with a small, unreadable smile still playing on her lips and headed toward the dining room.
Wilbur followed, feeling unusually flustered, as if he had just been put through some sort of trial. What the heck just happened? he thought to himself, trying to regain his bearings. All he had done was stand there, yet somehow, everything felt... different now.
His dad was right about one thing: this night wasn't going to be anything like he expected. But whether that was a good or bad thing, he wasn't sure yet.
Author's Note: That's the end of Chapter 2! The next chapter to follow soon. Please review! :)