"Marge, what's going on here," I ask, desperate for some kind of an answer.
"I don't know," She replies. "Hey, Ava," She calls.
"Yes," I reply.
And she answers with a chuckle "So much for winning that contest." And we both burst into laughter. "Wait," She replies.
"What," I ask, concerned.
"If you're Darcy, then who am I," She asks.
"Well mabe- wait do you hear something at the door or is it just me?" I ask.
"It's not just you because I hear it too." She replies looking at the door.
Oh no. I think they know that Zayn and I are listening. But why do they keep calling each other Avalon and Marge, when it's really Darcy and Marie? Questions are spinning around my head as I motion for Zayn to rush down the stairs. I just got an idea: I, as the father of Darcy and Zayn, as the father of Marie have the right to know what our daughters are up to. As I walk down the stairs, I stop to explain to Zayn my idea. We both decided to call a family meeting so that we can talk to our daughters and have them tell us what's going on, and I could ask all of the questions I need answers to. "Darcy," I call.
"Marie," Zayn calls.
"Comming," They say in unison.
"Comming," Marge and I say in unison.
"Marge, I got it," I say.
"Got what," She replies.
"You must be Zayn's daughter," I say, full of cheer and exitement.
And she replies "Awesome! Now let's go before we get into any trouble."