This was originally a oneshot in which the roles were reversed. The roles in this seem far more appropriate. I felt like doing something a little lighthearted, hopefully it should be a nice little story. Quite a cliché, but I wanted to try my hand at it. Thanks for reading!

"Shit, shit," she heard, "it's Robbins! Run away before she narks on you!"

She only rolled her eyes at the muttered warning, listening to the snickering and scampering behind her. She heard hasty footsteps quickening behind her, slowing its pace and then speeding up again. She watched as people ran by and around her, slipping by almost teasingly – she caught glimpses of mischievous grins but ultimately paid them no mind. Some were acknowledging her with a tone of mockery; others seemed to not give her a second glance. It seemed to be just another day she walked down the hallway – listening to the complaints and bantering of her fellow classmates.

It wasn't her concern to "nark" on them, as they called it. She only had one concern at the moment, she thought as she edged around the corner, making her way up the marble steps to the school's rooftop.

It was just her obligation.

The voices faded away as she promptly opened the door to the rooftop.

A gust of wind blinded her for a moment, obscuring her vision entirely. Yet, her hearing was just fine. It was a chilly gust of wind – and her thin sweater did not warm her at all. She always felt too cold in the school's proximity. Much too cold.

"Crap, Robbins!" was all she heard before hearing hasty footsteps quickly reach the door on the opposite side of the rooftop, slamming before she could open her eyes.

But when she did, she saw her sitting there on the other side of the rooftop – glaring at her with wide, brown eyes. Yet, that glare did not warrant any kind of refusal. Rather, it seemed to be an invitation. And so she made her way to the owner of those brown, lively eyes. They seemed to say so much, she thought.

She slowed her pace now – the wind had stilled and nothing was heard aside from the slow tapping of her sleek black shoes against the hollow ground. The older girl that sat across from her simply raised her head higher as she approached – her eyes never falling.

Torres always held her gaze. She seemed to be the only one in this academy, she thought. She finally stopped in front of her, looking down at her inquiringly. She held an equally intimidating front and folded her arms, though more for warmth than hostility as she felt the wind blow briskly again.

"Robbins," the girl grumbled, "what now?"

"Calliope," she replied coolly, "so nice of you to bestow your presence upon us on this fine day."

"Don't condescend me," the girl retorted, her voice deeper than before, "what do you want?"

"You know what."

"I don't think I do," the girl told her with a hint of sarcasm.

"Go to class."

"No."

"Callie!" she yelled indignantly. She let her arms drop to her hips as she stomped a foot in protest, but the seated girl only raised her eyebrows in amusement.

"Arizona," she replied coolly, a wicked grin plastered onto her face.

"What?" Arizona frowned, her body stiffening at Callie's unperturbed reply. She always seemed so unfazed and collected in front of her, though there was always a hint of that suggested annoyance, Arizona thought to herself.

"I'm just saying your name," Callie said simply, "like you said mine. Except much calmer because I'm not high maintenance."

"Oh, shut up," Arizona growled. "Will you go to class already?"

"I'll go whenever Webber and Grey and the others get you off my ass."

"You know they won't," Arizona retorted, "until you go to class."

"Oh, come on," Callie groaned, "I go to class!"

"Yeah, whenever you feel like it, that's not enough!"

"It's not any of your business, will you butt out already?"

"Look, it is my business. You make it my business. Mister Webber has spoken to you just like he did with me. I don't know what he said but-"

"He said I should follow your example," Callie scoffed.

"Well, it isn't a bad one."

"Aren't you vain."

Arizona let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes. She folded her arms against her chest and watched as the seated girl grimaced in anticipation, aware that she would receive another lecture. "Look, Calliope-"

"Callie," she corrected.

"Look, Callie," Arizona started, "do you think I want to waste my time beating a dead horse? Hassling you to go to class every day? I just do it because the teachers ask me to. They want me to talk to you. Clearly it doesn't work. But I don't have a choice. I have an obligation."

"Model student," Callie said, her eyes without amusement. "That's not how it was before."

"Well, that's because I thought you were…" Arizona said, but trailed off. I thought you were my friend before, she wanted to say. But she held back.

She had met Callie when she had first transferred to Seattle Academy, only a few months ago. It was rare for a student to even transfer. She didn't get the reception she usually did upon transferring mid-year. She thought she would receive curious enthusiasm – not suspicious stares and murmurs. But she eventually found out why. In Seattle Academy, no one transferred in mid-year. No one ever transferred in. Only out.

The academy was well-known for its exclusivity specifically centered around medicine. It was a pre-medical school, a rarity for secondary education. It was difficult to really understand the mechanics – most of the students that entered the school were well aware of the prospect of becoming a doctor – it was something that they had planned to do since childhood. Not for all, of course. For some, it was forced upon by their parents. For others, it was a matter of choice. For most, it was a matter of name.

Because Seattle Academy was exclusive. Rich. Rich by its population, rich by its merit and standards. It was an escalator school – a school that guaranteed entry to one of the finest medical programs for entry level University students – it was also a school that many competitive Medical programs considered when reviewing their prospective students. Admission to Seattle Academy guaranteed that one would go on to do great things. An escalator school entailed escalation to the finest.

It was of exceptionally high quality.

And that made it cliquey.

And full of rich kids.

And Arizona wasn't really one of those. Her family had moved around too much for her to really adjust to anything, mainly because of her father's position in the Marines. She attended no-name schools for most of her life. Dingy, old & quiet public schools in the outskirts of small cities and towns. And now suddenly, she was in a highly established private Academy that only admitted the best (and richest).

It was odd for a girl of her background to be in a school like this.

Her father had close connections with the principal; they had both served in the Marines, though her father was mostly geared for combat as opposed to his friend, who served as a surgeon. Nevertheless, the principal ended up sharing a close bond with her father – thus, allowing her to transfer to the school mid-year. And this eventually allowed her the recommendation to become class president. She had protested but was silenced by her father's icy glare.

And so she transferred. And Callie was her guide. Calliope Torres, her nametag had said. She hadn't known then that Callie was a notorious class skipper. Or that she was in risk for expulsion. Or that she had been forced by Mister Webber to tour Arizona around the academy so that she wouldn't be on academic probation – though she'd gone far beyond that.

Arizona had known nothing. She'd known nothing at the time aside from Callie's gracious smile. She'd known nothing then. Callie was inviting, she was helpful and informative. She inquired about Arizona's life and what she had hoped to accomplish. She had shared nothing of herself – she simply kept a façade up. Arizona had concluded that Callie really hadn't cared for her at all.

She thought that she had – especially when Callie had greeted her, smiling brightly, holding her hand out – often taking it in her own. She made Arizona feel comfortable, she made her feel at home.

But then Arizona started attending classes. And Callie hadn't. When Arizona had finally found her, Callie had simply ignored her, grimacing – and even rolling her eyes when Arizona was suddenly promoted class president for her astounding academic performance – an impulsive choice made by the faculty after reviewing her previous test scores and grades from other schools.

And she had wondered whether the smile Callie had shown to her meant something. She wondered if that smile, then – that Callie then – was the real Callie. She thought it was so. She thought so. It was only a brief encounter. It shouldn't have mattered so much. It was months ago, and Arizona now knew.

This was the real Callie. Not the Calliope that had taken her hand and helped her to climb the gate when they snuck into the locked pool during the welcome tour.

This was the real Callie, the one that sat before her – the one wearing the coarse, precise yet incredibly alluring eyeliner. It brought out her brown eyes – it defined a kind of look – intimidating, surreal – and breathtakingly stunning in a kind of way Arizona couldn't quite understand. The real Callie was the one that wore the tight leather jacket over her navy blue uniform – with black, sleek leggings that clung to her skin – revealing toned legs and a beautiful form. Yes, the real Callie sat right in front of her with her dark brown hair flowing in the wind.

"You thought I was what?" Callie asked, breaking Arizona out of her daze.

"Huh?"

"What?"

"No-nothing," Arizona murmured, her arms dropping to her sides again. She quickly looked over Callie before saying, "Your leather jacket is in violation of the academy's dress code."

Callie laughed, "So is your silly pink sweater." Arizona didn't respond to this, but simply narrowed her eyes. It seemed Callie had noticed this, for she quickly changed the topic, "No one has ever said it was a problem."

"But it is." Arizona said, "Everyone is afraid of you. That's why they don't say anything."

Callie only shrugged in reply, "No one's afraid of me. If you can approach me, anyone can."

"Alright, whatever," Arizona said, seemingly finished with the bantering, "I'm not going to tell you again today. Go. To. Class."

"I already know the material, Arizona."

"Because you were left back a year. You should know by now that that isn't a reason to skip. What's in your head isn't transferring to paper."

"I'll go to class when it's time for midterms."

Arizona sighed and turned around to leave, looking back at Callie for a moment, "You know, even Mark is doing better than you."

"Yeah, I'm sure he is."

"Alright," Arizona said. "Goodbye, Callie."

"Seeya, Miss President."

Knowing the bell would ring soon, Arizona left Callie sitting there under the bright sun. She opened the door to the roof and quickly went down the stairs and back into her homeroom. Upon entering, she saw a few of her classmates look in her direction before quickly looking away, prompting her to roll her eyes. She walked over to her bag and took some papers out before heading for the door again.

"Bell's gonna ring soon, guys. Get to your classes."

"Got it, Prez," she heard behind her. Before she was out the range of hearing she heard, "I can't believe they demoted Izzie for her."

Sighing, she headed for the Faculty office to drop her papers off. They were mandatory budget requests and other student issues that arose during her student governance meetings.

Walking there, she ran into the class president for the year below hers, as well as the vice to her chair in student governance, April Kepner. Perhaps the only one that seemed genuinely receptive towards her.

They weren't friends. Arizona didn't really have friends in this school. But as she got used to things around the school, she realized that no one seemed to enjoy April's company, either. At least on the surface. Arizona didn't really know. She just knew that April was cheerful, overachieving, and had a lot of complaints.

But when you got to know her, she wasn't so bad. Besides, April had a crowd, too. They may have been her friends, who knew – maybe they were just there for her childhood friend and academy stud, Jackson Avery – but still, she had her people.

So despite her affinity with April, they weren't the same. Not at all, really.

"Prez!" April exclaimed, rushing over "Have you submitted the proposals?"

"I'm about to," Arizona declared, flapping the papers in her possession.

"That's kind of cutting it close, Prez."

"I meant to do it earlier, but I had to do my usual scouting."

"Oh, Callie Torres," the younger girl murmured, "She really scares me."

"Yeah, well," she said, turning from her, "what can you do?"

"See you later, Arizona!"

"Okay," Arizona said in turn, watching as April hurried down the hall to meet Jackson, who stood there, waiting for her. She felt a pang of envy. Just for a moment.

She turned around the corner of the hallway and reached the room, noticing the door ajar. She peered inside, careful to not run into any teachers on her way back. They never failed to somehow engage her in conversation, and after her encounter with Callie, she had felt no desire to hear appraisal, even if it was about her.

She quickly slipped inside and dropped her papers into the student governance box, then turned to leave, but stopped abruptly as her homeroom teacher, Richard Webber entered the room. She felt her body stiffen reflexively. Older people always made her anxious and nervous – especially authoritative figures like Webber and her father.

Teachers were authoritative figures, she reasoned. It was probably why she felt the need to submit to all of their requests.

"Arizona!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Better hurry before the bell rings."

"I am, Mister Webber," she smiled, turning to slip by him.

"Why so late?" he inquired.

"Oh, you know," Arizona murmured, attempting to dismiss the conversation. But he just eyed her curiously. "Callie Torres," she answered.

"Torres, again?" Webber sighed. "That girl…"

"I know, Mister Webber," Arizona said, in a feeble attempt to dismiss her teacher.

"You're doing a great job, Arizona… hopefully a role model like you could motivate her."

"Respectfully, sir, I've been trying for a while now…" she murmured. Only because he insisted that she talk to Callie.

"But that's exactly it," he resumed, "an ideal student like you could motivate those who aren't doing well. Torres has already been left back once, a second time is not an option. I'm hoping she could learn from you."

"Yes, Mister Webber," Arizona said, "I'll try my best."

"I know you will," he smiled, patting her on the back as he ushered her out of the room.

Arizona hastily headed back to her classroom – she managed to make it in time and still had a few minutes to spare. She thought maybe she would check the surveys from the Plastics club, but her motivation was shot upon seeing a group of students loitering just in front of their homeroom.

She sighed to herself and moved to discreetly make her way inside the classroom, but she was stopped by a surly voice.

"Arizona!" she heard, turning her attention to the group of students. It was Izzie Stevens, Meredith Grey, Cristina Yang, and a number of other girls who seemed to be grouped into that niche. The others seemed surprised that Izzie had suddenly called out to her.

"Izzie," she acknowledged, nodding her head before slipping inside the classroom. She heard Izzie grumble under her breath before she felt her hand being pulled slightly backwards. "Uh?" she asked, feeling as Izzie delicately clung to her wrist.

"Don't be so unfriendly," Izzie said coldly, "thought we were friends?"

"Of course," Arizona murmured, "was there something you wanted?" She wanted to address her as Queen Bee but ultimately refrained from mockery. She wasn't the type. Arizona was determined not to have her anger roused by students in this school.

Except, maybe Callie Torres, she thought briefly.

"I just wanted to say," Izzie started, leaning forward closely by her ear, "Anne says hi," she whispered.

Arizona felt herself flush for a moment and pulled her wrist away from Izzie's grasp. "Thanks," she said, her voice cool and uninterested, "send my regards."

She heard Izzie giggle behind her and moved to take her seat in the front row. The bell rang minutes later and a number of students quickly ushered inside. Arizona glanced to the back of the classroom and briefly noted the chronically vacant seat that belonged to Callie Torres. She then turned her attention back to the front and took out her notebook.

When the bell for lunch rang, Arizona had the sudden impulse to have it outside. On the rooftop. Where Callie was.

Even though Callie turned out not to be the person she initially presented herself to be at the beginning, Arizona had felt a kind of similitude with her. Lots of people spoke to Arizona – she was the class president. Callie rarely spoke to anyone aside from Mark and Lexie.

Yet, still – Arizona felt that maybe they shared a kind of feeling. She wasn't sure what it was. Maybe she could figure it out.

So she headed to the rooftop.

But she found no one there. Callie always left right before lunch.

Of course she left, Arizona thought. She always leaves.