The Grass is Always Greener on the Other Side

SUMMARY: In which Robb Stark is a frustrated high school senior forced to re-take Planning, and Dacey Mormont is his hot teacher. Also features a class full of misfits who aren't really misfits. Robb/Dacey. Margaery/Quentyn. Arya/Gendry. Loras/Renly.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's been a while. Anyways, I'm back with a new story. This should only be about two or three chapters. Also, I haven't abandoned "We're Like the A-Team." I have the entire story mapped out so I'm still in the process of writing the next few chapters. It will be updated soon so if you're following that, don't worry.

If you're confused as to what Planning class is, it's this mandatory class I (along with everyone else) had to take in grade 10. Basically, we learn about sex ed, how to write a CV and resume, what to look for when buying property, etc. It's supposed to prepare you for real life, but it didn't really prepare me for anything. It's an easy A though, so I won't complain too much.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything.

Mr. Luwin, guidance counsellor for King's Landing Secondary School's seniors, peered over the half-moons of his horn-rimmed spectacles at Robb. "I'm sorry, Robb. Unless you re-take Planning, you won't be able to graduate."

Robb angrily slumped in the vinyl seat, his arms crossed. "Isn't there anything else I could do? An assignment, maybe?"

Mr. Luwin shook his head. "You have to actually re-take the class. It looks like you didn't even show up for more than half of them in the tenth grade."

"It was my rebellious stage," muttered Robb under his breath.

"Understandable." Mr. Luwin nodded. "But not excusable. Which planning class do you want me to enroll you in?"

"None of them!" Robb said indignantly.

"Would you be opposed to Ms. Mormont's class? It's rather small and full of other students who've failed to fulfill this requirement."

"I don't want to be in a class full of failures."

"They're not failures," sighed Mr. Luwin. "They're all lovely students who've just had some trouble with this class."

Robb huffed, defeated. "So all I have to do is pass this class and I can graduate."

"Precisely," Mr. Luwin answered, nodding. "I think you'll like Ms. Mormont. She's new and hasn't had the chance to properly teach a class yet."

"Great," drawled Robb sarcastically. He was not looking forward to having some keen, upstart of a teacher try to teach him useless life skills. "Can I go now? I have soccer practice."

"Of course," Mr. Luwin said. "But if I find that you're not attending this class, I will be forced to report your behaviour to the principal and have your soccer playing privileges revoked."

"But you can't!"

Mr. Luwin stood up abruptly, nearly upsetting the mug of tea on his desk that the students always suspected was spiked with something stronger. "I can," he said in an icy voice. "And if need be, I will."

Robb slunk down. "Listen, Mr. Luwin," he said. "I'm decent, but not at all that great with school. Soccer's where my strengths are. You can't do this to me."

Mr. Luwin took his glasses off and placed his elbows on the paper-covered desk, rubbing his temples. "I know, Robb. But, you have to promise me that you'll try. If only you were more like Jon…"

"And if I don't?" Robb shot back, bristling at the mention of his perfect older brother. Jon Stark was the golden child of the Stark family. He'd breezed through high school, managing to become captain of the soccer team while maintaining a 4.0 GPA, a steady girlfriend, and several other extracurricular activities. "Try, that is?"

Mr. Luwin looked up, his gaze more worried than angry. "Then you'll be held back a year. Now, I'll ask you again: which planning class do you want me to enroll you in?"

"What're the options?" Robb asked, feeling already defeated.

"There's Mr. Qyburn's grade ten class. Your sister, Arya, is in that class."

Robb shuttered. "Not Qyburn's class. Not Qyburn's anything."

"Fair enough." Shrugged Mr. Luwin. "What about taking it online?"

"I don't think so." Robb shook his head. "I'd prefer to take it in a classroom. If it's online, I'll get way too distracted. What was that other class you mentioned earlier?"

"Ms. Mormont's class?"

"Yeah. Can I take that?"

"Why of course you can," said Mr. Luwin.

"Okay, good. And now that that's sorted out," Robb began to gather up his backpack, "can I go now?"

"So you're good with Ms. Mormont's class, then?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Robb dismissively. "See you around, Mr. Luwin."

"Alright, Robb." Mr. Luwin said. "I'll see you at your next game against Braavos."

"Thanks."

With that, Robb strode out of guidance counselor suite, avoiding the throng of students that had started to crowd the area. Pushing his way past, he opened the glass door and pushed out into the surprisingly empty hallway. As he began to slip headphones in his ears, he heard his name being called.

"Robb! Ay, take those headphones out! If you keep listening to boy-bands, you're going to start thinking like them!"

Robb sighed heavily and turned to face the source of the voice. He was greeted with a disturbingly familiar sight. All six feet of Loras Tyrell was hurtling toward him at a startling rate. Robb braced himself for the inevitable impact.

"Dude!"

Robb cracked open one eye.

"Dude," Loras called out exasperatedly. He held out a fist, which Robb hesitantly bumped his own fist against. "Oh R'hllor, did you actually just fist pump me?"

"Did I what?"

"Fist pump!" Loras said, waving his arms about. "Dude, fist pumps are for losers like," Loras reached out and grabbed a lanky kid by his backpack, "like Lommy Greenhands! Hey kid." He held out his fist.

"Loras," the kid greeted, bumping his fist against Loras'.

"Alright, you're free to go." Loras gave Lommy an almighty push and sent the poor kid flying.

"Dude, did you just push a kid into the girls' washroom?" Robb asked. Inwardly, he questioned the decision he'd made to befriend Loras five years ago.

"Did I?" Loras asked. He clapped his hands on his jeans. "Oh well. Kid's gotta learn about anatomy someday. Come on." Grabbing the shorter Robb by the scruff of his collar, he pulled him along.

"Where're we going?"

"Somewhere I can smoke without Pycelle getting up in my ass."

"Football quad?"

"Football quad."

"Dude, that sucks," said Loras empathetically, stretching languidly. "Slim Jim?" He asked, offering Robb half of the pepperoni stick he was chewing on.

"Ew, I don't want your half-eaten stick of pepperoni!"

Loras shrugged. "Suit yourself, dude. Yeah, that sucks balls." He ripped the Slim Jim viciously, chewing with relish. "I'd be totally flipping out if I was you."

"Well, the entire population of King's Landing thanks the Old Gods each day that you're not."

"Whoa," Loras held up his hands, "chill out there, ranger. No need to be all moody."

Robb brought his knees up and buried his face in-between them, temporarily ignoring the pain in his tailbone caused by the aluminum bleachers. "If I don't pass, I'm not going to graduate."

Loras put down his food. Moving closer, he slung an arm around his closest friend. "Buddy, you're going to be just fine. Trust me. You know who how I know?"

Robb looked up, eyeing Loras hopefully. "How?"

Loras grinned brightly. "Margaery passed planning in grade ten. Piece of cake."

"Your twin sister?" Robb sat up. "Margaery, who had to retake English, passed planning?"

"Nah, I'm just kidding with you. She's actually in the same boat as you right now."

Robb deflated. "So she didn't pass?" He muttered to himself, "Well it's not like I expected much from her, academically-wise."

"What did you say about me, you twerp?"

Robb froze. Loras stifled a laugh behind his hands. Just to the right of the two boys stood the intimidating, shapely figure of Margaery Tyrell, whose position—feet planted, hands on hips—exuded power and a subtle aura of "I'm going to drink your soul out through a straw and then regurgitate it onto the grave of your hopes and dreams."

"Did I fucking stutter?" She asked, leaning in close to Robb.

"I heard you failed planning," Robb said casually, not wanting to back down from this particular battle.

"I heard your dad spelled your name with one 'b' on the family Christmas card."

Robb whipped around to face Loras, who regarded him with a suspiciously innocent expression.

"How come you're so nice to everybody except me?" Robb asked.

Margaery gave him a vaguely disgusted look. "I hope you're not expecting a serious answer."

Just as their fight was about to escalate, Loras thankfully stepped in. "Margaery," he addressed his younger twin, "Robb is going to be in the same planning class as you."

"Is he?" Margaery's smile turned sugar sweet. "Then I suppose you will be of some use to me in the upcoming months."

"Ms. Mormont's class?" Robb asked, hoping that Margaery had gotten mixed up and would have ended up in Qyburn's class.

"You bet," said Margaery. "There's no way I would choose Qyburn. That guy has a bunch of little preserved heads in his office. And it always smells like formaldehyde in there for some reason."

"I'm surprised you know what formaldehyde is," Robb said quietly.

"I'm not an idiot," said Margaery.

"I never said you were!" Retorted Robb.

"It sure sounded like it."

"Guys!" Loras butted in. "Lunch is almost over. You have your special class in ten minutes. Now can you please get along?"

Robb and Margaery gave each other looks of revulsion.

"For me?"

Their faces didn't change.

"Okay, if you don't get along, I'm going to tell you guys all about my relationship problems."

"Looks like we have a truce, Stark." Margaery held out a hand.

Robb took it confidently. "You can count on it, Tyrell."

"Now can we please get to class? I have biology with Mr. Lannister and I really want to get front row seats to that if you know what I'm talking about."

"This the place?"

Margaery nodded, looking at the door with slight apprehension. "You go in first," she said to Robb, who shook his head vehemently.

"Ladies first." He mock-bowed.

"You choose now to be chivalrous?" Margaery shifted her weight to one hip and crossed her arms. "Man, my brother really knows how to pick 'em."

"Excuse me," a voice piped up behind them, "are you two in this class?"

Robb and Margaery turned to face the source of the voice. Behind them stood a tall boy around their age carrying a backpack that looked to be several pounds heavier than most elementary-aged children.

"And if we are?" Asked Margaery, a semi-flirtatious smile on her face.

"Then I'd ask you to please move out of the way so I can open the door," the boy replied without batting an eye. Robb instantly took a liking to him.

"I'm Robb," he said.

"Gendry," the boy said, nodding in his direction.

"That name sounds familiar," Margaery murmured, shuffling to the side. "I think Sansa's mentioned you before."

"Why would my sister talk about this guy?" Robb jutted a finger over to Gendry. "No offense," he said to the boy.

"None taken," Gendry said, pulling open the door. He leaned inside. "Are we early?"

"I don't think so," said Robb. "The bell's already rung."

"Nobody's here," said Gendry. "Oh wait. There's one guy here, but I don't see the teacher."

Robb filed into the class after Gendry. Coughing slightly, he waved his hand in front of him. Dust particles swam in the air in front of him thanks to the afternoon sunlight streaming through the slits of the grey blinds. Sitting in one of the back seats was someone with their hood up, feet resting on the desk. The figure looked to be sleeping. Robb cleared his throat. The figure sat up and pushed their hood back, revealing their face.

"Are you in this class?" Robb asked.

The boy blinked sleepily. "What?"

"Planning," Robb repeated slowly. "This is the planning class for the seniors who either failed it in grade ten or never took it. Are you in this class?"

The boy gave a slight start. "Planning?" He repeated. At Robb's nod, he straightened his clothes, combing an anxious hand through his hair. "I apologize for my appearance," he said hastily. "I've been up all night and hadn't gotten a chance to properly sleep."

"No harm done," said Robb. "I'm Robb and that's Gendry." He pointed to Gendry, who gave a little wave. "And that's—where's Margaery?"

"Margaery?" The boy asked, flushing red to the roots of his dark hair. "She's here?"

"Of course I'm here!" Margaery strode into the classroom with the sort of grace you'd expect from an entire squadron of ballerinas. Upon looking at the newcomer, she took a step back. "You never told me you were in this class."

"You never told me, either." The boy said. "I'm Quentyn, by the way," he told Robb and Gendry.

"Do you two know each other?" Robb asked.

They exchanged glances, Quentyn shuffling nervously. "You could say that we're acquainted," he said.

"That's one way to put it," muttered Margaery.

"Where's the teacher?" Asked Gendry as he filed into a seat near the middle. "I thought class was supposed to start five minutes ago."

"Well if she isn't herein the next fifteen minutes, we're legally allowed to leave," said Margaery brightly.

"I'm afraid that won't be necessary, Miss…Tyrell, is it?" Standing near the door was a tall woman, almost as tall as Robb. She was dressed sharply in black and white, a battered leather bag held in one hand, and a travelling coffee mug in the other.

"Are you our teacher?" Robb asked, feeling a little lightheaded.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Dacey Mormont. She crossed the expanse from the door to her desk in three easy strides, plunking her thermos on the desk.

Her hair was black, thought Robb, blacker than even Jon's. Scrunching his brow, he tried to temporary erase the image he'd constructed of Jon's head on Miss Mormont's body.

"I'm Dacey Mormont," she said. She picked up a whiteboard marker and wrote her name in a spiky scrawl. "You can call me whatever you want, as long as it isn't a derogatory term. Dacey's fine, though. I probably won't respond to 'Miss Mormont' anyways."

"Can I call you Dace?" Margaery asked with one hand raised daintily in the air.

"Only if I can call you Marg," replied Dacey without missing a beat. She took a swig from her mysterious thermos.

"Will we be needing any required textbooks for this class?" Asked Quentyn. "Mr. Luwin didn't mention any and I don't have a copy of the syllabus."

"If there was a textbook for life," Dacey said, "you can bet your ass I'd be lining up for that."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Just make sure you show up."

Robb sighed, placing his head on his desk. This class was full of idiots.

"You!"

Robb started. Looking up, he pointed to himself. "Me?"

Dacey nodded grimly. "Yeah, you. No sleeping in my class. I understand that you may be a little apprehensive about learning the finer points of sexual education, but if you don't pay attention, you're not going to pass."

Robb averted his stare from Dacey's piercing gaze. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Dacey walked up to his desk, placing a hand on his table. She leaned in close to his ear. "I don't really want to be here, I'll admit that right off the bat. I'd rather be teaching a history class than this stupid bullshit. So please, don't make this difficult for me."

Robb could feel the blush on his cheeks. Finally, Dacey stepped away, a bright smile on her face. "Nice talking to you, Stark."

As she walked away, Margaery looked over at Robb and let one eyelid fall in a slow, seductive wink that was far more mocking than he felt he deserved.