My second A.N.T. Farm story! I hope you all enjoy. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Read on! (:

I stood at my locker, rearranging things just for the hell of it. I would go find Chyna, but for the past few days, I hadn't been able to be around her without hearing her say something like, "Fletcher won't leave me alone" or "Fletcher isn't getting over that crush he has on me" or "Fletcher keeps doing things for me". Like I didn't already think about him enough, now Chyna wouldn't stop talking about him. Any girl would be lucky to have Fletcher fawning all over them, but Chyna just took him for granted, complaining about whatever he did for her.

I sighed heavily and leaned against the locker next to mine, clutching my binder. I stared at the picture taped to my locker. It was taken a few years back, when we were all still in the A.N.T. program. It was a picture of Fletcher and I, our arms wrapped tightly around each other. Even now, I could see all my feelings written out on my face, but Fletcher... Fletcher was just smiling. I could never read his emotions too well. I touched the picture with a gentle finger, a small smile dancing across my lips. I love you, Fletcher Quim-

"Hey Olive."

I jumped and spun around on my heel. Fletcher was standing right there. I kicked my locker shut quickly with my foot without turning away from him and smiled nervously, "Hey Fletcher! When did you get there?"

He chuckled deeply. He'd definitely hit puberty since he was twelve years old and it'd been good to him. He grew unbelievably tall, his voice got about six octaves deeper and it was still a little raspy like I'd always loved. His brown hair still grew pretty fast, but he'd found this certain way to cut it about two years ago that just made him look really... handsome. He still wore his colored skinny jeans, but now, instead of his graphic tee's, he wore these button down type shirts, rolled to his elbows and untucked which, dear lord, made me melt inside.

"Not long. I wanted to ask you a favor." He smiled down, a bit nervous at me.

I beamed up at him, "Anything."

His smile grew slightly. He looked down at his shoes and glanced back up at me, with this glint in his eyes. The I'm-about-to-suggest-something-that's-probably-frowned-upon glint. But the way he looked at me, head cocked to the side, eyes shining blue, looking oh so delicious, made my thought process come to a halt.

"Well, in order for you to do me this favor, we'd have to ditch class. Are you okay with that?" He asked.

"S-sure." I stuttered.

He smiled, "Great. Follow me."

I tailed him as we hurried through the still crowded halls and into the art room. He shut and locked the door behind him and set his bag down, starting to get, whatever it was he was doing, ready. I watched him intently as he did this and eventually he noticed and paused in his running back and forth.

"What?" He asked.

"This is the art room, Fletcher." I pointed out.

"...yeah?"

"Won't there be a class in here, like... as soon as the bell rings?" I ask him.

He shakes his head and laughs, "No, it's the last class of the day and also the teacher's conference period, but she went home early with a cold, so we're in here for as long as I need."

I nod, "Oh." I set my bag down in a chair and clasp my hands together, watching him get things ready. He'd set up a blank easel beside a table with multiple color paints on it and a theater prop couch facing the easel. I eyed the couch warily and glanced back at him.

He stopped moving around and clapped his hands together with a smile on his face. "Okay Olive. Come here."

He pulled something from behind the couch and held it out for me to see. It was a silky white dress. I stared, bug eyed, up at him and he just chuckled and looked away for a second. "I want you to put this on."

"And I want a car that never runs out of gas, but we both know that'll never happen." I tell him.

His eyes turned wide and innocent looking even though I knew they were far from it and he jutted out his bottom lip. It quivered slightly and he asked, in a small boyish voice, "Please Olive, please?"

I looked between him and the dress before grumbling and snatching it away from him. I stalked towards the supply closet and slammed it shut behind me.

"Thank you." He called.

"Yeah, yeah. The things people do for love." I mumbled quietly to myself.

"What was that?" He asked.

"You're welcome!" I called, my words dripping with sarcasm.

I opened the closet slowly and took a few hesitant steps until I was standing in front of him. He looked me up and down and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was definitely checking me out, but I quickly ruled that possibility out. Because Fletcher would never be in love with me. He liked someone else and I just had to suck it up and accept it. He gave the littlest shake of his head and then led me to the small couch. He sat me down so that I was lying on my side, facing the easel. My head was only barely resting on my closed fist, but it was mostly laying back against the arm of the couch. A small pillow was covering my mid section, a gentle hand rested on top of it and my feet were pulled up beside me. My shoes had been asked to be removed, so I discarded them somewhere on the ground. I now lay comfortably on the theater couch, staring at Fletcher who was, right now, hiding behind his easel.

I heard his voice, small and more raspy than usual say, "I can feel you burning holes through this thing."

"Good, why don't you come out from behind it and I'll vaporize you." I growled.

He peeked his head out from behind it only a little and gave me a smile, "C'mon. Quit complaining. You look great anyways."

I felt the heat stain my cheeks, but I didn't want to move to hide it and ruin all Fletcher's hard work. He disappeared behind the easel again and mumbled, "That's what I needed."

I stared, wide eyed, at him even though he couldn't see it. But when he poked his head back around again, I pretended I hadn't heard him. He grinned at me and I just couldn't help but smile back at that handsome face. His eyes appraised me again and I pushed down the blush that threatened to reveal itself. I don't think he realized the power he had over me.

"Where do I look?" I asked.

"I don't know."

I rolled my eyes, but settled them on the floor, staring at the multiple paint splatters scattered there. All different colors. It was kind of cool.

"That's perfect."

I glanced back up quickly at Fletcher and he motioned with his hands, "No, no, no. Look back down at the ground."

I did as he told me and heard him say "Perfect" again, before he disappeared behind his canvas again. He situated it, so it was turned slightly to the side, at an angle. I still couldn't see it, but I could see him now. I'm assuming he positioned it that way, so he wouldn't have to keep sticking his head out to the side to see me. But seeing all of him and his face like this was making me nervous. I mean, he was painting me, scrutinizing every part of me. It was definitely nerve racking.

"You're tense." He pointed out.

"Mhm." I mumbled, freaking out under his intense gaze.

He sighed and set his paint brush down. He kneeled in front of me and stared at me a moment before placing his hand gently on my arm. I'm pretty sure his touch was supposed to calm me, but my heart picked up speed and was it just me or did it suddenly get extremely freaking hot in here?

"Just relax, okay?" He rubbed his hand up and down my arm softly and I almost melted into the couch cushions. He stood up and strode back to his set up. I took a deep breath and then let it go, forcing myself to calm down and resume a natural position. I took one more deep breath and then glanced up at him, asking his approval with my eyes. He nodded and gave me a thumbs up and I moved my eyes back towards the ground where he wanted them.

Two hours later, when I was right on the brink of falling asleep, I heard Fletcher sigh and his paint brush hit the table. I glanced up and he was smiling at me, leaning against the table with his arms crossed.

"Done?" I asked.

He nodded and I shot straight up, stretching my arms far over my head and cracking my neck from side to side. He chuckled and I laughed with him and got to my feet, still very stiff.

"Can I see the master piece?" I asked.

He grinned and nodded, so I skipped over to him and then froze in place. My mouth was hanging open and my eyes about a mile wide. He was such a phenomenal artist and I wasn't conceited or anything, but I looked beautiful. He had such an eye for detail and I could just picture his delicate, gentle hand making the light brushes across the canvas. Once or twice, when I knew he wasn't looking, I'd snuck a peek up at him. His face had been so serious and so very sexy, I'd found it a little hard to breathe.

I turned to him and smiled, "It's beautiful, Fletcher. This is just.. wow, it's incredible."

"Ya think so?" He seemed happy.

"I do." I beamed.

He stared into my eyes for a minute and then coughed and crossed his arms again, turning his eyes to the floor. I felt my eyebrows furrow as I waited for him to explain what was wrong. He looked back up at me and my heart skidded to a halt. I knew what was coming. He'd read me like an open book and damn it! I knew I should have worked harder on keeping my feelings off my face, but I'd slipped and now everything was about to come crashing to the ground. He was about to tell me that he would always be my friend, but that we could never be what I'd hoped for. He was going to tell me that he was in love with Chyna and he just didn't think about me that way. I panicked and made my stiff muscles move so I could get out of there. I knew deep down that Fletcher and I were impossible. It just wasn't meant to be, but hearing the words... hearing the words would crush me and I needed to keep that small, fake fantasy part in me alive if I wanted to make it day to day.

I held my bare wrist up to my face and examined it quickly before returning my wild, panicked eyes back to his, "He-hey, would you look at the time. I really need to get home."

"Olive, wait, I need to tell you something first."

I started backing away slowly and hitched a thumb over my shoulder, "Sorry, can it wait? I have to get home and feed my dog."

"You don't have a dog." He pointed out.

"We just bought one! Isn't that great? And I totally forgot that I have to go home and feed him." I rushed the words from my mouth. Distantly, I remembered that I was wearing the dress Fletcher had told me to put on and that my clothes were stranded in the closet, but I needed to leave now, so I made a mental note to come back for them tomorrow.

"This is important and it'll only take a second." He told me.

"I'm really sorry, Fletcher. I have to leave. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" I turned to leave, but he was quicker than me and he raced around me until he stood in front of the door, blocking my way.

"Fletcher," I pleaded, my voice cracking, "Please let me go." I didn't want to hear his "important" thing he had to tell me. I couldn't hear it; not if I still wanted to be able to hold myself together.

He walked in front of me and put both hands on my upper arms. His bright blue eyes bore down into me and I really felt like crying then. I wanted to wrench my body out of his grasp and run home, but he was not allowing it.

"I love you." He blurted.

I started to laugh hysterically and said, "That's a really funny joke, Fletcher, but I need to go." He was probably just trying to lighten the mood before he broke it to me that he wasn't into me like that. He probably didn't know that he'd just stomped on my heart with that little "joke". But it's okay, I'll forgive him, because he doesn't know any better.

He shook me slightly, because I was still laughing hysterically, "Olive, this isn't a joke. I love you."

My eyebrows furrowed and tears welled up in my eyes because this just didn't make any sense. Even if I loved him with every fiber in my being, it wasn't practical for him to love me back. I shook my head, "You love Chyna."

"No, no I don-" He stopped and I heard the low growl deep down in his throat; he was frustrated. His bitter chuckles were a little on the hysterical side as well. "No, I don't love Chyna, Olive. I love you. I have for a long time; since we were twelve. I could just never find the right time to tell you."

"The right time? The right time? You couldn't find the right time for four years? Do you have any idea how completely insane you've made me? Holy crap! If I weren't in love with you, I'd kill you!" I yelled.

I think I sort of heard him ask, "You're in love with me?" But I kept yelling anyways, ignoring him or maybe just too crazy to actually hear him. "And what do you mean since we were twelve? You liked Chyna then! I could probably point out about ten thousand right times to tell me, but nooo, you didn't think they were opportune enough. I have been going crazy for years, being all angsty and sad because you were an impossible thing to wish for. I hate you!"

I stared at him, eyes flashing angry and the blood rushing to my cheeks. He smiled and I wanted to slap him for it, but he just laughed and shook his head. "No you don't. You love me."

And he shoved his lips against mine. Just like that. His soft, pink, full, perfect lips... I wrapped my arms around him and he picked me up and turned, pushing me roughly against the door. I gasped and kissed him harder, wrapping my legs around his waist.

He mumbled against my lips, "I don't know about you, but I think this was the perfect time. Aren't you glad I waited?"

"Absolutely not. Now shut up and kiss me. I think I've waited long enough, don't you?"

I caught his lips with mine, not letting him reply and felt his answering smile. I threaded my fingers through his hair, completely at peace with the world. If I died right now, I'd be okay with that.

But he pulled away again and I used my pouty face. He smiled and said with one eyebrow raised, "Don't you need to get home and feed that new dog of yours?"

I laughed out loud and punched him lightly in the shoulder, "Shut up."

Our lips met again in a passionate embrace and honestly, I don't think I would ever get enough of him.

Review? (: