an: haha, how long have i wanted to do one of these? dude, it's no surprise i picked zach/bex ;D

each color is a drabble-y thing, so i'm sorry, not as much detail as i normally would put in. it's slightly au-ish. in the "asha-verse", the gallagher academy is just co-ed. i wanted this to be kinda short, but i've come to the realization that nothing i write will ever be short unless i plan it that way.

for theblack sheep challenge.

violet;

You were just dumped on a CoveOps assignment.

Dumped might not be the best word to describe your situation, because—as Macey would put it—you and Grant were never exclusive. Now that you think of it, he never actually referred to you as his girlfriend. It was always "I'm hanging out with Baxter tonight" or "This is my"—pause—"this is Bex." But, you were so happy that you were part of a pair that you believed his nonchalance about you was endearing.

The assignment was ridiculously easy: track each other, and don't get caught. You and Cammie were thrilled for different reasons: you were the best tracker, she was the Chameleon, and you were trailing Zach and Grant. An ironic twist of fate considering the way you met each other? Maybe. Still fun? Sure.

Grant opted to take the mall route. You were fine with this, because it gave you a chance to sneakily look for possible outfits in case he asked you to a movie on Saturday. You watched him (from the second floor) peruse the Apple store and stop to buy a violet slushie from a vendor. A chuckle escaped your lips, because not too long ago the two of you were discussing your favorite slushie flavors. Those were the kind of conversations that made you love to be around him.

Mall-tracking became boring, so you managed to catch up with Grant within five minutes, just as he stepped into the elevator, but you don't bother to wonder why he gave up without a fight. Usually he was one of the hardest people to track. Then it hit you: the resigned look in his eye, the look of pity, of "I can't believe I'm about to do this." You got it immediately; it was over.

"I—I think I need a break," he stammered, as he hit the 'close' button before anyone else can interrupt your conversation. "A break from,you know, from us?"

The words don't sting now, but when they do, it'll hurt harder than any punch you've ever thrown. But until then, you're as stubborn as ever. "What do you mean?"

He awkwardly shuffled his feet, not meeting her eyes. "Us, I mean, it's not like we're"—he frowned—"really dating, or anything, right? I thought we were just hanging out, nothing too serious." Grant's voice got stronger. "You're just too—well—overbearing—"

You've heard enough. It was one thing to dump you in an elevator, but it quite another to state that the there was never any sort of relationship between the two of you. The dates, the flirting, the kissing—couples do that. Regardless, nobody talked to Rebecca Baxter like that and got away without a broken arm at the very least. Overbearing, you? Please.

In one fluid motion, you slap the 'stop' button of the elevator and push him out back on the first floor. You gritted your teeth, balled your fists, and at that point, you've never wanted to punch something—or someone— more than now.

"So, don't bear with me any more!" you shrieked, seething as he sheepishly ducked back into the crowd of the mall, leaving you alone in the elevator. Anger. Angst. Humiliation. Hate. Your mind can't even process what happened, but all you know is that you are completely and utterly pissed off and the second you got back to school—

And, he left his stupid, violet slushie on the floor.

You smashed it with your foot, and pretended it was his face.

---

indigo;

It just hit you.

"It's not like we're really dating, or anything, right?" Every time you play the words back in your head, the madder you get. The madder you get, the sadder you get. And the sadder you get, the more you want to cry.

And Bex Baxter doesn't cry.

"You're better than him," you tell yourself—even though you're thinking the exact opposite— "get over him." Your strides become longer, and before you know it, instead of walking aimlessly in the courtyard, you're running purposely. The faster you run, the less it all hurt.

You looked up at the dark, indigo sky. The rumble of thunder relaxes you much more than the attempts of Cammie, Liz, and Macey to cheer you up. It cheers you up because thunder means that the worst—lightning—would come, but so would the rain. And when the first drop of rain fell, everything would okay.

You would be okay.

---

blue;

You weren't okay.

You were okay for approximately one week, two days, five hours, thirty eight minutes, and six seconds. Once you went back to your dormitory, your friends were so relieved that you were back to your regular fun-loving self within hours that they borrowed Tina's copy of Dirty Dancing for celebration. They thought you were just really into the movie; you were just focusing on it so you couldn't think of Grant.

But, the more you laughed and cracked jokes, the better you felt. Cammie and Liz discussed possible revenge schemes (something involving a SkinAgain and lipstick). Even Macey had to comment on the fact that you probably set the record for "quickest break-up depression period", to which you just grinned and said, "He's nothing to be depressed over."

But, their words—as nice as they were—meant nothing. They had never been on the receiving end of a break up. Cammie had dated and dumped Josh Abrams and Zach Goode, Macey had broken the hearts of countless boys, and Liz and Jonas were as lovey-dovey as ever. You liked to be first at a lot of things, but not this.

School flew by that week. Liz had re-mapped your route to each class so you wouldn't ever accidentally bump into Grant. Cammie secretly switched around Madame Dabney's seating arrangement so you wouldn't sit next to him any more. Macey simply shot him a dirty look every time he sat down at the junior table for meals. Your heart swelled with gratitude, but a part your friends' helping annoyed you. You wanted to fight your own battles, alone. If you were gonna get over him, you wanted all the credit.

Despite that, you were slowly forgetting Grant. You remembered the laughs you guys had, but you especially remembered how he would blow you off to hang out with other people, roll his eyes when you tried talking about something serious, or how his eyes would linger a little too long on another girl.

But, all the progress you had made quickly evaporated when you see him saunter into Cultures and Assimilation, with his arm around Kim Lee, his sweetest smile and bright blue eyes directed at her.

You ran.

---

green;

The second you ran out of the classroom, you were sure of three things: Madame Dabney would give you a serious detention for leaving unexcused, Kim Lee was now probably going to die a cruel death courtesy of Macey, and no matter how much you said it, you weren't over him.

Because if you were, you wouldn't be hitting a tree at the moment.

With every punch, kick, or slap at the oak tree, the bigger the hurricane of contempt crashes on you. And each wave is saying "you weren't good enough."

Minutes pass, and you've worked up a P&E style work out while thrashing on the poor tree.

"Whoa, what did that tree ever do to you?" A voice asked, the sudden sound causing you to lose composure for a moment. Short of breath, you whipped around to to face the eavesdropper with your arms still in boxing position. Instead, you come face to face with Zach Goode.

Zach. Because of the stupid smirk on his face and Grant's friend, all of the anger you were getting rid of was automatically transferred to him. But, you were already in trouble with Madame Dabney, you decided not to push your luck with a possible murder. "Ugh," you scoffed. "What do you want?"

He snorted, and set his bag next to yours. "I don't know, tree therapy, maybe? I heard punching bark is real good for you."

You rolled your eyes. "Leave me alone," your growled, your eyes flickering threateningly.

Instead, he just sat next to you. "I know you're upset you Brits lost the Revolutionary War, but—"

"For the last time, that's not funny, Zach!" you snapped as you punched him in the arm. His lame British jokes that you had to hear on a day to day basis when he dated Cammie were definitely not appropriate right now.

The two of you were silent for a moment. He cleared his throat for moment. "You're really hung up over Grant, aren't you?" His tone was a mix of caution—like she was bound to explode at any second, and that was a possibility—and genuine surprise.

"Am not, " you protested, even though the now leafless oak tree and your eyes gave you away.

"Are so," he replied. "You're suffering from an extreme case of I Miss Grant-itis. Symptoms include not laughing at jokes, destroying nature, and denial. One in five of his ex-girlfriends are diagnosed with it every month."

You scoff. "Thank you, Dr. Testosterone, for that riveting explanation." You turned your gaze to your feet. "But, I was never his girlfriend. Or at least in his eyes. So, I think I'm immune." The words stung a little bit to say, but not as much as you expected.

Zach raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Oh." He stood up and grabbed his backpack. "Then, I know the perfect solution. You need ice cream."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Ice cream?" you clarified. "Have you been binging on chick flicks? We can't just leave campus."

He shrugged. "We're bound to get in trouble for cutting class," You wanted to point out that he cuts more classes than attending them, but he added, "so, we might as well have fun and go get ice cream."

This was the first time somebody else had to coerce you to break a rule, but ice cream did sound good. So, you grabbed your bag and said, "Your treat, Goode."

***

"One mint chocolate chip cone for the lady." The vendor handed you your delicious, green ice cream before turning to Zach. "And a plain vanilla cone for you." Zach paid for the two of you, before you both walked to an empty table in the shade.

You had to give him some credit: the ice cream was the perfect solution to cheering you up.

He took another bite and swallowed. "So, what was it that we were talking about?" he asked, mostly to himself. "Oh, yeah. Grant."

"You couldn't just let me enjoy this ice cream in peace, could you?"

Zach ignored you. "Come on, Bex. You're smart. You shouldn't be punching trees over him."

"Aren't you his friend?" you queried.

"Yeah," he considered that factor, "but, I'm allowed to say he's an asshole for stringing you along like that." Zach's voice got a little quieter, a little more subdued. "Take it from me, break-ups suck, but you can't let it control you. Move on."

And right there, you just realized that his heart was broken too once. By your best friend. But, he was hardly affected by it. You two were practically paralleled in life.

When it came to matters of the heart, you and Zach Goode are more alike than you thought.

---

yellow;

You and Zach did indeed get detention. Three weeks of it, to be exact. But, Mr. Solomon—who was usually in charge of discipline—was on leave for a while, so the two of you had to simply sit in Professor Buckingham's classroom and try not make any noise for an hour.

The first few days, detention was a serious drag. But before you knew it, spending time with Zach in the yellow classroom was actually sort of fun.

At first, the two of you started passing notes complaining about how much detention, as Zach put it, "sucked more than a vacuum". Then, it evolved into talking about each others' favorite movies or bands. Sometimes, though, the conversation was about Grant.

You wouldn't have wanted him as a boyfriend, anyway. He has bad hygiene habits. Be thankful you don't share a room with him.

Now that I think about it, his hair did smell.

It smells like a dead cat.

How do you know what a dead cat smells like?

You don't want to know.

Soon, Zach knew a lot more of you than you had planned. Like how you felt pressured to live up to your parents' legacy or how you stilled missed them. He was sparse with the details about his life, but you knew he didn't see his parents much and didn't like Blackthorne as much as he made it seen. These heart-to-hearts were the only reason the two of you bothered going to detention when Professor Buckingham was never there.

You had to constantly tell the other girls (namely your friends) that you and Zach were simply just friends, detention buddies, and nothing more. Out of detention, you two were always surrounded by your friends and could never talk that much. Everything changed, though, when he brought up The Godfather.

So, yesterday, Jonas and me were watching The Godfather with a projector. Covered the entire wall, you should've seen it. It was awesome.

Hmm, never seen it.

WHAT?

Never seen it.

And you call yourself a HUMAN BEING?

It's just a movie.

JUST a movie. Oh God, what's wrong with you?

So, when he left you a note in CoveOps saying, "The Godfather is playing at the movie theater for one night on Friday. Wanna see it? Scratch that. I'm not giving you a choice. I'll meet you outside at 7."— you couldn't explain why you felt so jittery the whole day. Or why you were smiling like crazy. Or why you were so excited for Friday.

"You just want to see the movie," you told yourself, "It has nothing to do with Zach."

---

orange;

Zach was right, once again. The Godfather was indeed brilliant. You both were so focused on the movie that you didn't utter a word to each other until the credits started rolling. And when it did, he just gave you that stupid "I told you so" smile. You decided not to mention the fact that when she and Grant went to the movies, they weren't exactly watching. They were the only two from the school who had opted to see the classic mafia flick, but they did catch some of their classmates exiting out of the newest horror movie.

Namely, Grant and Kim. Holding hands. Looking like a couple.

If this had been three weeks ago, your throat would have tensed and your hands would have balled into fists and you would be looking for the nearest tree. Instead, you grinned at the two of them politely, and Kim looked relieved that you weren't hostile towards her any more. Maybe you were stronger than you thought.

The orange glow of the streetlights made the roads of Roseville seem more alive. The conversation between the two of you switched between The Godfather debates over to the most outrageous spy stories (the best one including Mr. Mosckowitz and a nudist colony). Before you knew it, the night was half over, and it was time to start walking back to the mansion.

"Hey, when we saw Kim and Grant?" he began, "I'm glad you didn't get mad. I think you're cured of I Miss Grant-itis. I mean, what happened?"

"Who's Grant?" you joked.

"I'm glad you're over him." He paused, and then studied you for a moment. He didn't break his gaze for a minute."You could to a lot better."

You stopped walking, and cocked an eyebrow. "Like who? Michael Corleone is a little too old for me," you said, suffering to the main character of the movie. But, little shock waves zoomed through your body. It was a compliment. Simple as that. The fact that it came from a boy—Zach, of all people—was just an added bonus.

"Like," his face was much closer to yours than you remembered, and your cheeks turned hot. "The prince of England." With that, he moved a little away from you, and you resumed breathing. You felt a tinge of disappointment—"at what?" you wondered— but changed the subject promptly back to movies.

You didn't mentioned that he was the only thing to happen in these three weeks.

---

red;

His lips were cherry red, you finally decide as the two of you sit by the tree that you had battered just less than a month ago. You thank your lucky stars that it's dark out and he can't really see that you're not paying much attention to his rant on the FBI. You had pinch your thigh to stop staring so much and actually listen to him.

"What did you mean when you said I could do better?" you blurt out, interrupting him. You couldn't help it: you had no inner-filter at times.

He laughed. "I meant that you could do better. That doesn't merit an explanation."

"Yeah, it does." You lightly punch him in the arm, but he still flinched. "Girls are highly analytical. That's why we're better spies."

Zach rolled his eyes. "That may be, but I think we both know the reason you want me to explain what I said," he teased with a small grin.

"Oh, please. Your 'I Know Everything' act is getting old," you responded sarcastically.

Suddenly, you found him leaning in toward you. Even more suddenly, you found yourself leaning in as well, tilting your head, pursing you lips. If you didn't know any better, you could swear—

"Admit it," he whispered, "you know who you could be doing better with." It was curfew by now, and any second now, the alarms would be going off in the school and people would be wondering where you were. And for once, you didn't care.

Your eyes are closing faster than you realize. "Enlighten me," you said, and his lips press against yours. Maybe you were exaggerating, but you swore you felt a spark the second it happened. You don't even know what's more surprisingly: the fact that you're actually kissing Zach Goode of all people and it was by choice or how you never felt fireworks like that when you kissed Grant. You didn't kiss that long, less than thirty seconds at the most, but it felt like it went on forever. And it felt right.

"Hey, Bex," Zach said, as you pulled away. His face was a bit flushed, and you felt shaky. Still, the slight smiles on both faces told otherwise.

"Yeah?"

"You should be analytical more often."

wowza, now that was a doozy of a oneshot. but, i liked it, enough. i wished i could make the ending better, though. but it had to end somewhere.

the black sheep challenge was fun, there should be more challenges like that :)

so, love it? hate it? tell me how you feel about it, because reviews would totally make my day. bring on the craziness! xD

peace out,

asha :D

ps: i saw (500) days of summer today. i adored it.

tom: what happens when you believe in love?
summer: you believe in that?
tom: it's love, not santa claus.