"Oh my god, are you alright?" Octavia gushed into her phone. Clarke looked up, wondering who was on the phone and what was wrong with them. "It's Raven," Octavia mouthed at her.

"What's wrong?" Clarke asked worriedly.

"Oh, it's okay she's fine," Octavia told her. "I'm talking to Clarke," Octavia said to Raven. She turned her attention back to Clarke for a moment. "Raven fell down the stairs at her apartment, but she's totally fine," Octavia assured Clarke. Clarke nodded and turned her attention back to the TV. "What do you mean not totally okay?" Octavia asked suspiciously. Clarke lost focus on the TV again, worried about Raven. "You've got to be kidding me… yes I'm annoyed at you!" Octavia scowled. Okay, if Octavia was annoyed, Raven's injuries couldn't be too severe…

"I don't care if you didn't do it on purpose. How am I supposed to find someone else in less than two days?" She was silent for a moment, listening to Raven, before giving a loud snort of laughter. Clarke raised an eyebrow at her, wondering what was so funny when only a second ago Octavia had been fairly distressed.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Octavia said to Raven. "Clarke can't play tennis. No offence," she tacked on, seeing Clarke was listening. "I was talking to Clarke again! I don't have time to give her a lesson, I have to work tomorrow. Yeah, I'm aware of that. They don't like each other. He wouldn't do it for free." Octavia glanced at Clarke and Clarke frowned, not entirely sure what they were talking about, but getting the feeling she wasn't going to like it. "True, I am very persuasive. Okay, but next time you sprain your ankle can you give me a little more warning? Bye!" Octavia ended the call and turned her attention to Clarke, smiling sweetly.

"What was that all about?" Clarke asked suspiciously. Octavia walked over and sat beside her on the couch, all the while looking like a mischievous child who was pretending they were totally innocent. Clarke knew better than to ever believe Octavia was innocent in any way.

"Well, the thing is, Raven sprained her ankle and can't play in the tennis tournament we're entered in on the weekend," Octavia started.

"And you want me to take her place?" Clarke guessed. Octavia nodded. Clarke sighed. "Can't you just get your brother to fill in? Isn't he a tennis coach?" she suggested.

"It's a women's tournament, Clarke. Bellamy isn't allowed to play," Octavia said patronisingly. Clarke rolled her eyes. Octavia really wasn't doing anything to help her case by treating her like a child.

"But I don't even know how to play tennis!" Clarke pointed out.

"Right, which is why Bellamy will give you a lesson," Octavia informed her matter-of-factly.

"Um, no," Clarke immediately refused. Octavia gave her her best puppy dog eyes.

"Pleeeease Clarke?" she pleaded, batting her eyelashes. "It'll be really fun!"

"I honestly can't think of anything worse," Clarke said flatly.

"Don't be such a spoil sport! Come on, I've been looking forward to this weekend for months! We'll play a bit of tennis, meet some new people and drink a lot of alcohol. You don't need to be good, you just need to know enough to not look like a total idiot on the court. Bell will give you the lesson for free." Octavia convinced. Clarke looked at her sceptically. "Please?"

Clarke exhaled dramatically before giving in. "Fine! I'll do it. But don't expect me to like it," she warned.

"I'd never dream of it. I'm gonna call Bell now and set up a time for your lesson! Yay!" Octavia hugged her before dialling her brother's number. "Hey Bell!" she said cheerfully when he picked up.

Clarke watched her interestedly, wondering what Bellamy's reaction to her request would be. She knew Bellamy's one redeeming quality to be the fact that he loved his sister immensely and would do anything for her (and the fact that he was incredibly attractive, but that was beside the point), but she also knew he was not Clarke's biggest fan. She was certain he'd refuse to give her a lesson.

The two of them had never really gotten along, despite both of them being two of the most important people in Octavia's life. But Bellamy was just so… infuriating. He thought everything Clarke did was a waste of time, making snide remarks about her pursuit of an art degree and the fact that her family was well off, among other things. Just the thought of it made Clarke's blood boil, and she wondered how she'd get through the lesson if he happened to agree to it. He really had no right to make fun of her for studying art at college, when he'd never been to university himself. He was a tennis coach for crying out loud, not exactly a prestigious career, unless you were coaching some big shot superstar player, which he most certainly was not. He just taught school kids and retirees down at the local tennis club.

"Uh huh, I understand that," Octavia was saying to Bellamy. "But I reeeally want to play on the weekend and Clarke's the only one who can do it. She doesn't have class on Fridays." Octavia gave Clarke a smile. "You know you love me," she said to Bellamy. "Love you too, bye!" she grinned and put her phone away. "Success! You have a lesson with the one and only Bellamy Blake at 10am tomorrow!"

"I can hardly wait," Clarke said sarcastically.

"Do you need to borrow something to wear to your tennis lesson? I know you don't exercise," Octavia said to Clarke before she left for work that morning.

"Hey! I run sometimes," Clarke defended. Although she hadn't been running in over a month. Still, she owned running shorts and sneakers, even if they were hardly ever used.

"Right, well have fun!" Octavia grinned and skipped out the door.

"Yeah, right," Clarke muttered under her breath. She was pretty sure she had never dreaded something so much in her life. She knew she was going to make a fool of herself today, considering the fact that she knew nothing about tennis. And normally she wouldn't mind, she liked learning things and she could laugh at herself. If it had been Octavia giving her the lesson she was sure the two of them would have had a good time while laughing about Clarke's lack of hand eye co-ordination.

But it wasn't Octavia, it was Bellamy, and he gave her enough shit already. Add to that looking like a total maniac with a tennis racquet and Bellamy would be taunting her to the rest of her days. Octavia was lucky Clarke was such a good friend, honestly.

"She so owes me for this," Clarke grumbled as she made her way to the tennis club just before ten. Bellamy wasn't there yet, but she was a little early. Octavia herself never liked to arrive anywhere even five minutes early, so Clarke figured Bellamy was the same. When he still wasn't there twenty minutes later Clarke was feeling angry and ready to go home. She had just made the decision to go home (it was pathetic enough she'd waited so long already) (if this was a date there was no way she would have waited so long) (it wasn't a date though, why would she even think that?), when Bellamy pulled up in front of the courts. Clarke scowled at him as he carried two tennis racquets and a basket of tennis balls towards her.

"You're still here," Bellamy noted, coming to greet her.

"Yes I'm still here! Why are you so late?" Clarke demanded.

"Honestly? I was hoping you'd leave and I wouldn't have to do this shitty favour," Bellamy snorted.

"You're lucky I didn't leave, you would have had Octavia to answer to," Clarke sniffed.

"Correction, you would have had Octavia to answer to," Bellamy said. He then proceeded to act out the conversation he would have had with Octavia. "I'm really sorry O, I was running late and I didn't have Clarke's number so I couldn't let her know. By the time I got there she was already gone!" he put on a sad puppy dog face not too different from Octavia's before smirking at Clarke.

"You're an asshole," Clarke spat.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with, okay? Here take this," he handed Clarke a ratty old tennis racquet. She wrapped her fist around it and waited for further instruction. Bellamy rolled his eyes. "Don't you even know how to hold a racquet?" he said impatiently.

"Bellamy, let's get one thing straight. I know nothing about tennis. Stop acting like you're better than me because you know how to play some crappy sport," Clarke snapped.

"Right, 'cause you've never acted like you're better than me," Bellamy snorted.

"I… what?" Clarke said, taken aback. Bellamy ignored her.

"Hold it like this," Bellamy demonstrated the grip on his own racquet. "You have to make a V with your thumb and forefinger, in line with the head of the racquet," he instructed. Clarke adjusted her grip on the handle, copying Bellamy. "Got it?" he asked flippantly. Clarke rolled her eyes at his tone but nodded. "Great. Now go up the other end of the court and I'll hit some balls at you and see how your technique is," Bellamy said.

"I already told you, I don't have a technique, I-," Clarke started.

"Don't know anything about tennis. I know. Shut up and get down there," Bellamy demanded. Clarke seethed as she walked to the other end of the court. It had only been five minutes and she was ready to hit Bellamy over the head with her tennis racquet. Although, looking at the state of the thing it would probably do more damage to the racquet itself than to Bellamy.

"Where should I stand?" she called.

"Just start in the middle of the baseline," Bellamy called back. Clarke looked at the lines on the court and decided the line at the back was probably the baseline. It seemed she guessed correctly since Bellamy didn't yell at her. "Hold your racquet in both hands, spread your feet apart slightly and keep on your toes," Bellamy instructed. Clarke did her best to follow his instructions. "Alright, now I'm going to hit a ball towards you and all you have to do is bring the racquet back and make contact. Oh, and get it over the net," Bellamy said. He was being surprisingly patient with her now, and Clarke supposed his teacher persona had taken over his hatred for her.

Bellamy bounced a ball lightly off his racquet and over the next. Clarke reached her racquet out but the ball was too far out of her reach and it went flying past her.

"You have to move your feet, Clarke. Your opponent isn't going to hit the ball straight to you," Bellamy said impatiently.

"Right," Clarke nodded. "Okay I'm ready this time," she called. Bellamy hit another ball over the net and this time Clarke managed to get her racquet to it, but she hit it too softly and it didn't even reach the net.

"Nice," Bellamy said flatly.

"Shut up," Clarke glared at him. Why did he have to be such an ass about the whole thing? He hit another ball towards her and this time she managed to get it over the net and into the court. "Yes!" she cheered, giving a fist pump.

"Yeah, you're a regular Federer," Bellamy said sarcastically.

"Who?" Clarke asked, annoyed that he was trying to take this small victory away from her.

"He's… oh never mind. Just keep hitting," Bellamy said exasperatedly. So much for being patient. Bellamy continued to hit balls to Clarke until he was satisfied she was hitting enough over the net.

"Well, your technique sucks, but it'll do for now," Bellamy sighed. Clarke rolled her eyes once again. What was it with this guy that made her eyes seem to be permanently raised to the sky? "Now let's do backhand," Bellamy said.

"What?" Clarke enquired.

"Well the ball isn't always going to be on your right. And you can't run around the ball if it's on your left," Bellamy said as if it were obvious. And Clarke supposed it was obvious if she really thought about it.

"Fine," Clarke sighed.

"You can do a two handed backhand," Bellamy told her. "So when you swing, just keep both hands on the racquet," he said. Clarke nodded and Bellamy started the process of hitting balls at her again. As it turned out, Clarke's backhand was much worse than her forehand. Bellamy was getting more frustrated with her by the second.

"It's not that hard Clarke! You don't even need to hit it well, you just have to get it over the net!" he snapped.

"I'm trying!" Clarke said, her voice sounding whiny even to her own ears. "Is this how you treat the children you teach?" she huffed.

"Of course not, but they're children and I actually like them. Plus, they can hit a ball better than you," Bellamy sneered. Clarke gave a groan of frustration.

"Can we just end this? I've done my duty to Octavia and so have you," Clarke complained. She was sweating profusely and her arms were killing her. She was not used to this kind of exercise. Meanwhile, Bellamy hadn't even broken a sweat. But to be fair, she was the one running all over the court (and picking up all the balls) and he was just standing there hitting balls at her.

"I still have to teach you how to serve. And how to score," Bellamy pointed out.

"Fine," Clarke groaned. "But let's make it quick. Do the scoring first so I can rest," she said, walking over to her bag and grabbing her water bottle, gulping it down thirstily. Bellamy put his racquet down and walked over to her.

"Alright the scoring works like this. The first point is fifteen, the second is thirty and the third is forty. After forty, you win the game. If the score is forty all, that's called deuce and the next point will be advantage to whoever wins it. If you win the point when you have the advantage, you win the game. If you lose, the score goes back to deuce. Whoever wins six games first wins the match. You with me so far?" Bellamy explains.

"Uhhh…" Clarke says. "There's more?" she asked worriedly.

"Well there's the matter of when to switch ends and sides and where you should be standing when other people are serving…" Bellamy continued. Clarke groaned.

"Why is this so complicated?" she asked.

"It's really not," Bellamy said.

"Let's just quit and I'll tell Octavia it was my fault," Clarke said.

"No. I never quit unless there's no other option. I told Octavia I'd teach you to play tennis and that's exactly what I'm going to do, even if it kills me," he stared at her solemnly.

"Am I really that bad?' Clarke sighed.

"You're alright for a beginner," Bellamy shrugged. Clarke knew that was as close to a compliment as she was going to get from him, but it was enough to make her pick up her racquet and head back to the court.

"Okay, teach me how to serve, Tennis Master," Clarke said, throwing her hands up, hitting herself in the face with the racquet. "Ouch." She rubbed at her face while Bellamy laughed genuinely for the first time that day. "It's not funny, you meanie," Clarke scowled, but secretly she was happy to see him laughing, even if it was at her expense. At least it wasn't malicious laughter like all the other times he'd laughed at her.

"Meanie? That the best you've got?" Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

"I just got hit in the face, I can't think up good insults at a time like this," Clarke replied.

"And whose fault is that?" Bellamy smirked.

"Just tell me how to serve," Clarke said.

"Maybe I should give you a demonstration first," Bellamy suggested. He retrieved his racquet and grabbed a couple of balls, putting one in his pocket and walking to the baseline. "Alright so, have to stand behind the baseline, and if you step over before you hit the ball, that's called a foot fault. The ball has to land in the service square, otherwise it's a fault. If you serve a fault you get another chance to serve, but if you serve a double fault the other side wins the point," Bellamy explained. Clarke nodded.

"If the ball hits the net but still lands in the service court that's called a let and you get to have your first serve again," Bellamy continued.

"Got it," Clarke said.

"Alright, now watch what I do," Bellamy instructed. He then positioned his feet behind the baseline, bounced the ball a coupled of times, before reaching his racquet up and over his shoulder, behind his back, tossing the ball up in the air at the same time, before bringing the racquet back, his feet lifting off the ground and smashing the ball over the net and into the service court. Clarke's mouth dropped open. There was no possible way she would be able to do that. And how did he look so good doing it? Wait. She did not just think that.

"Okay, your turn," Bellamy said, tossing her a ball. She managed to catch it and took Bellamy's place at the baseline. Bellamy said nothing as she placed her feet the way he had and tried to imitate his serve. She failed miserably of course, missing the ball entirely. Bellamy burst into laughter as she tried again, hitting the ball directly into the ground at her feet.

"It's not funny," she scowled.

"I don't even know how you managed to do that," Bellamy laughed.

"Can you stop laughing and just tell me what I'm doing wrong?" Clarke demanded. Bellamy grinned and walked over to her. He seemed to be in a much better mood all of a sudden.

"Here," he said, putting a ball in her left hand. He then moved her arms into the correct position, the ball resting against the racquet in front of her. "Alright, we'll just go through the motions, don't throw the ball yet," Bellamy said. He moved to stand beside her, his hand still on her left arm, holding the ball to the racquet. He wasn't that close to her, and other than where his hand was on her arm there was no physical contact, but Clarke suddenly felt self conscious and awkward… and not because she was uncomfortable with him touching her, but because it wasn't uncomfortable at all and she felt like it should have been. Because she didn't like him, and he didn't like her. But instead her skin was tingling where his hand rested and all her senses were focused on that touch and she wasn't listening to a thing he was saying.

"Clarke?" Bellamy said her name and she snapped out of her daze.

"What?" she replied.

"Did you get any of that?" Bellamy asked.

"Sorry, I was thinking about… something else," she grimaced, glad he didn't know what she was actually thinking about. She shook off the weird feeling she'd had and tried to ignore his proximity to her. Bellamy huffed impatiently.

"If you're not going to take this seriously…" he started.

"I am taking it seriously!" Clarke interrupted.

"Okay. Bring your right hand up… no not like that… here," he grabbed her other arm and showed her the correct way to move the racquet, simultaneously pressing himself against her so that he could reach. Clarke did her best to focus on his tennis instruction rather than the feel of his breath on her neck and the smell of his aftershave. She wondered how he would react if she just turned her head slightly and kissed him. Wait. No. Was she actually attracted to Bellamy Blake? It wasn't possible. Except, that she totally was and she knew it was the worst possible thing that could ever happen to her. Unable to stand it any longer, she quickly stepped away from him.

"Don't touch me," she snapped. "I can do it myself." She didn't know if she imagined it but Bellamy seemed to flinch at her words. His mouth formed a thin line and he nodded curtly, moving away from her.

"Of course you can," he muttered. "Just… toss the ball up when your racquet reaches down your back, then… just hit it," he said tersely. Clarke did as he said, and after a few tries she began to get the hang of it and actually started getting it over the net. Some balls even landed in the service court.

"Good enough," Bellamy said. "You can go now," he said shortly. Clarke didn't say anything as she gathered her things and left the court, not even a polite goodbye. She was annoyed at herself because it had seemed for a moment there that she and Bellamy were actually getting along, and she'd ruined it with her tactless rebuff.

Of course, she knew that he was only trying to help her with her tennis, and that the feelings that she refused to think about were purely one sided. But that was exactly the reason she'd had to be sharp. Because him finding out that she may or may not have had some tiny glimpse of attraction towards him (okay, it was more than that but she would never admit it out loud) was much worse than them hating each other forever.

In any case, she'd done her duty to Octavia and other than maybe brief greetings here and there, she would never have to interact with him again.