to the POV question: Queen of Chemistry is only Felicity. i'm kinda/maybe working on a companion/outtake piece, The Composition of Smoak, that will probably be posted once this is complete. that is in Oliver's POV.

this came out a lot earlier because you guys are so cute.

Chapter 2:

"I have to say, this could be a lot more enjoyable under different circumstances. Under which circumstances are we here, by the way?"

It's much easier to ramble when you're uncomfortable. Or too comfortable, like I am right now. Who ever thought that I'd be crammed in a closet with Oliver Queen? And as far as closet sizes go, this one's pretty small. Not that I'd know. I don't typically get dragged into closets in the middle of the school day. Or at all.

He sighs and I feel his breath on my ear and shiver. I really hope he doesn't notice that.

"Did you really have to say that?" He says, trying to inch away from me. Judging by his matching anxiousness, he didn't know the closet was this small, which meant he didn't take many trips to this closet, which made me a very happy girl. I shrug and inhale his scent, rustic and smoky. I frown.

"You know, you really shouldn't do that."

He leans back so he can see my face. Well, kind of. "Do what?"

"Smoke," I say, not thinking that I could be overstepping some boundaries. "Nicotine has a lot of unwanted side effects as well as offering up a plethora of respiratory and cardiovascular issues in the future. Did you know-"

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks easily, bored. I freeze and begin to pick with the end of my skirt.

"Do I want...? I mean, I don't need you to stop. Like for me. I don't want, like, it's not up to me. I was just suggesting..."

"Breathe, Felicity," he says, and I'd feel very embarrassed if it weren't for me hearing the humor in his tone. Is he smiling? I wish I could see.

I take a deep breath. "I think you should stop."

"Okay," he says simply. For a minute, we don't say anything. It's a very comfortable silence and I find myself not wanting to leave. In all actuality, Oliver complemented me extremely well. I talked enough for the both of us, and I found myself grateful for him not needing to be talking all the time. In our short amount of time talking to each other, approximately three and a half days, we fell into an easy rhythm. Where his sentences stopped, or didn't, mine began.

"Where are your hyenas?"

A strange noise comes from his throat that makes me smile. "What?"

"Your friends," I correct, blushing slightly, "where are they?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, around. Why did you call them that?"

I feel embarrassed. "I don't know. They're always laughing at me." I feel a little ashamed at the admission. "Whenever I come down the hallway or whatever, they just laugh. I don't think I've seen them do much of anything else."

If it weren't for the feel of his breath against my cheek I'd think he was dead. Finally, in his infamous monotonous tone, he whispers.

"They aren't laughing at you."

Before I can correct him on his clearly clouded judgement, he clears his throat.

"I just want to know where we're going to do this." My mind conjures up thousands of innuendo before settling on the fact that he's probably talking about the tutoring.

"Um, your house?"

"No." He says, darkly. "What about yours?"

I nod my head. "After school works for me on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On Tuesdays I have Debate and on Thursdays I intern at the Liquid Crystal Lab at the local university."

"Of course you do."

"I'm going to ignore that. My mom is usually out until five or six, depending on the day. Did you want to start soon?" I internally cringe at the hopeful tone of my voice.

He sighs. "Yeah. As soon as possible. You drive your friend around, yeah? That Lance girl?"

He knew I had a friend? He knew there was a Lance girl?

"Laurel. And Sara. Although, she's kind of been missing lately..." I say, before realizing he probably doesn't care at all. I continue to play with the end of my skirt, twirling the material around my hand.

"Right, well, Wednesday, I'll drive you to school. That way we can drive to Central City afterwards and pick up my books and everything I need for the make-up labs."

I chuckle a bit bitterly. "Are you sure about that? I mean, you can barely be seen with me. We're in a freaking closet."

I wasn't dying for publicity, I swear. This wasn't my cry for attention at all. It was more like, why go through all of this trouble of hiding? Because hiding insinuates that there is something to hide. As far as I know, we weren't hiding anything. Unless, he was hiding something.

"If you can't see how much that's for your benefit then maybe you aren't as smart as they say."

"I'm smart enough to know that nothing good comes from sneaking around." Almost immediately as the words leave my mouth, the bell rings for the next class period. I feel him being smirky even though I don't see the physical smirk.

As the sound of footsteps fills the closet, light begins to filter through the crack of the door. Oliver opens it completely and steps outside. He reaches for my hand and his is so big and warm and I like holding it more than I probably should. He walks with me to the center of the hallway and his body towers over mine, almost protectively. We stand together, and I notice the incredible height difference as I tilt my head up to look at him, ignoring the eyes on us.

"Is this good for you then?" He asks, not letting go of my hand. I smile and nod, a little smug.

"Good, I'll see you later then." His hand slips out of mine and I want to squeal.

I want to squeal.

Christ.


"Where have you been?" I ask her, hugging her tightly. "I haven't seen you all week, I think that's the longest I've ever gone without my dose of you."

Sara sweeps her hair off of her shoulder and shrugs. "You know, I've been around. How about you, have you been okay?"

I smile at her concern and reach for her arm. "Yeah, yeah. It just sucks, because even though we haven't had a class together this semester, I thought we'd still be able to see each other. Wishful thinking, huh?"

She grins and slides her arm through mine. "Well, my car is malfunctioning as we speak. My dad's gonna try to fix it, but that means you can drive around both Lance sisters this week," she says with a wink.

"Well, aren't I lucky?" I grin and walk with her aimlessly to my next class. Sara was always late, and she could charm the hell out of just about anyone so she very rarely faced any consequences. "Except for Wednesday. Oliver is driving me."

One of Sara's charms was easily her looks. Laurel's beauty was a bit more in-your-face, but Sara had that gentle prettiness that was subtle, but never subtle enough to be overlooked. Her blonde hair fell in waves around a pale face slathered in orange- brown freckles. Her usual attire was jeans, and you didn't often see her in anything else.

Trust me, I've tried.

Her face falls. "Oliver who?"

"Queen. I know, can you believe it? I'm tutoring him, and he's actually a pretty alright guy. This whole time I thought he hated me, but it turns out it's just his personality," I joke casually. I feel a little cheeky knowing a part of Oliver that no one else does. Kind of like I have the insider scoop.

She grimaces, "I heard about you two in the hallway, I guess I just didn't want to believe it."

I frown at her. "You don't seem exactly thrilled. Which is strange, considering you always pick on me for not branching out more socially."

"Can you blame me?" She says harshly. "I mean, I stay away for a couple of days and I come back to you all over one of the three stooges?"

I pull my arm away from her and narrow my eyes at her. "I'm a smart girl, Sara."

She nods condescendingly.

"Street smarts, Felicity. You don't exactly have those. You know science stuff, and that's okay, but the fact that you're even speaking to Queen tells me you need some flashcards on things outside of a textbook."

I pause for a moment, taking the full blow of her insult. "Why are you being a bitch to me right now? Did I do something to offend you? Are you on the rag?"

Her eyes flash quickly and she shakes her head. "I just worry about you, Felicity. That's all."

"You don't have to because I can take care of myself, okay? I appreciate the concern, but lay off. It's not your job."

She nods and holds her arm out to me. I take it again, easily, because it's really all I know how to do. Sara and I usually don't fight, but when we do, it doesn't last long. I know how valuable our friendship is and I've never ended it over the petty things we fought about.

But our little arguments was just one of the several reasons that I found myself closer with Laurel than Sara.

When we were younger, it was the opposite. I was the first person that Sara came out to. It wasn't a dramatic ordeal in the slightest. We were watching some Spanish soap opera while my mom was out and she told me through a fistful of popcorn that she was into ladies. I didn't think much of it and neither did her family, fortunately, but there was still something to be said about the closeness we shared-that she would tell me something that personal before anyone else.

Somewhere along the way, we lost touch with each other. In truth, Sara became Sara and I became myself. The differences just grew to be more noticeable between us. Ninety percent of the time, I was bending over backwards to make her happy and she was always being an overly critical big sister type. I found that the stress that came with being Sara's go-to was eliminated with Laurel. Yes, she ate too much sugar and was humiliatingly crass, but she was also the one person I could go to for anything because she'd understand.

She also wouldn't judge like a certain blonde haired twin of hers.

"Has anything else been going on? Besides that, I mean," she asks, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger.

"Not really. Life's been kinda boring. I've got college stuff to do so there's that," the sentence comes out choppy and forced. I suddenly feel uncomfortable and like I'm speaking to an old family member at a family reunion; they know everything about you but you don't remember them at all.

I'm visibly relieved when she pulls her arm from me and leaves me to my Calculus class.

I walk inside and head to my seat beside Helena. Helena and I got along very well. We were assigned to each other at the beginning of the year for Chemistry and our personalities meshed. She just sort of let me do my thing. She designs clothes and she's got a huge thing for cosmetics. She's actually really good, but to be honest, she scares me a little. Her eyes were suspect.

It was kind of custom that we sat together in all of our classes now, because truthfully Helena didn't like many people. I was some kind of exception.

Usually, when I approach her, she nods and resumes to whatever she's doing

Today, however; she crosses her legs and turns toward me, looking at me expectantly. When I don't answer her, she pops a piece of gum in her mouth and chews obnoxiously.

"What?" I finally ask her, unpacking my notebook and binder. She smiles and drums her nails across the lab table.

"You," she says in her husky voice, "Were spotted talking to Oliver Queen today in the hallway."

Before I can get a word in, she holds up her hand.

"I don't care, but I'm your lab partner and people are going to expect details. Skim over the romantic stuff," she blows a small bubble and leans forward. "How big is he?"

Confused, I focus on pulling out my pens. "Oliver?"

"Were you in a closet with someone else, too?"

Flustered, I drop one of them to the table. "No!"

"Okay then. So, how big is he?"

I furrow my eyebrows and shake my head. So this was high school gossip, huh? I mean, you think they'd go for the juicy stuff. Clearly, Oliver was a big man. Especially in comparison to me. I tell her as much. Her scary indigo eyes bulge out at me.

"He's big, but I mean, that's obvious. I guess I see him as being bigger because I'm pretty small. He took up half the closet space on his own," I tell her with a giggle. She looks back at me, scandalized, and a little flustered.

"It must've hurt then, because he was so big?" She says it gently, like she's concerned for me.

I smile softly and shrug. "It didn't hurt." We shared a closet for christ's sake, he didn't pummel me to the ground. "It was a little tight and uncomfortable though."

She laughs loudly, drawing the attention of our other classmates. " Well, I bet he loved that."

She doesn't speak to me the rest of the period but she's texting at rapid speed and looking at me every time she does. Whatever she's texting about, it seems to make her laugh a lot which keeps her in high spirits and not irritable. Thank God for small miracles, right?

By the end of the period Mr. Calhoun has finished his notes and hands us our work for tomorrow. I'm more focused on our lab we're doing tomorrow for Chem and read through it on my way out of the classroom, gaining excitement as I see each of the chemicals we'll be using. Berty promised we'd be using crystals, which I am a huge fan of. I cannot wait to get my hands on some of these...


I slam into a warm, seemingly brick wall.

"Oh..." I say, startled. Oliver stares down at me distastefully. "Hi?"

He motions for me to continue on my path, and I do.

"So it wasn't enough for me to talk to you with a bunch of these fuckers hangin' around, you just had to tell Bertinelli a bunch of nonsense, too."

I look at him, alarmed. "Nonsense? No, I'm strictly no nonsense."

"Although, it's a great compliment. Especially coming from you."

I stare at him angrily. "What did I do?"

He leans down to read my expression like he's searching for something. Whatever he finds makes him chuckle. "You told Bertinelli that I had a big cock. Like I said, not the worst thing you could've done."

I immediately blush and pull away from him. Cock is a very dirty word, okay? It makes me flustered. It's not like penis, which is very clinical and direct. Or even dick, which is a little bit middle school and vague. It's what they say in porn, you know? It's for sex only. It's not something you'd say in casual conversation! Apparently Mr. Queen did not get the memo. "I did not! She asked me if..." I rehash our conversation in my head and am instantly filled with dread. "Okay, I did. But don't worry, I can fix this."

"That's okay, I think you've done enough damage."

I narrow my eyes at his pretty little face. "Look, mister, I'm sorry. Don't be a grouch."

He lets out another little chuckle and crinkles his nose at me. Oh, he's a nose crinkler. "I'm just teasin' you."

Oh. Well it was hard to tell considering your expression has not changed since you started talking to me, Queen.

"I never know when you're being serious or not," I say with a shrug.

He leans against the lockers outside my class. The mass of students bend around us, never getting too close, but they watch us intently. I pretend not to notice, but Oliver sees my awkward posture and glares at one of the boys staring me down.

"This wouldn't be happening if we were in a closet right now," he says, a frown etched on his face.

I giggle loudly and shake my head. He doesn't share my amusement.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "See? I can never tell!"


When I come home, something is burning.

I drop my keys on our little wooden coffee table that wobbles before, thankfully, stabilizing upright. My bag is tossed on the couch and I adjust my glasses in the fog of the smoke coming from the kitchen.

"Mom?"

I hear a squeal and a quick curse before the oven door slams shut. "Baby? Don't come in here!"

I roll my eyes and step closer toward the kitchen. "Just leave, okay? Save yourself and go get help."

I giggle-cough and sigh. "Get your dramatic buns away from the oven." She rushes away and begins coughing loudly, dramatically, as the fumes had not escalated to the point of needing that type of reaction. I pace toward the oven and turn it off before turning on the overhead fan. I yank open the oven door and pull on an oven mitt.

I stare blankly at what looks to be a rock before pulling it out and tossing it on top of the stove. I grab a few towels and open up the back door, airing out the house before we made the smoke detector go off. That would be hell.

I stare at the culprit and shake my head.

"Were you trying to cook?" I turn to the charcoal, smoking away on the stove. She stares at me innocently and shrugs.

"It was a potato."

After it's cooled down enough, I toss it out into our backyard.

When our house is smoke-free and I've given my mom a lesson on fire safety, we curl up together on our couch watching some re-runs of an old sitcom. Instead of a baked potato, my mother's scarfing down a bowl of cereal, something way more her speed.

My mom can really only make two things: tofu and sandwiches. She was a total wannabe hippie growing up and so she perfected the art of tofu-making. Sandwiches, she says, came from her years in college.

"This cereal," she says with a groan, "Is so good. I know it's just flakes, but it's like there's so much more..."

"Sugar," I tell her with a smile, "That's the other ingredient."

She hums. "How was your day?"

I sigh. "Very eventful, actually. Though, recently, most of my days have been a lot more eventful." Hmm. I wonder why.

"And why's that? No one's giving you a hard time, are they?"

I fold my arms across my chest and scowl. "No, mom."

She sets her cereal down on our wobbly coffee table. "Baby, if anyone ever tries to bully you..."

She's got it in her head that I'm this gigantic loser. And yes, that may be possibly true. Slightly. But totally not.

"I'm not being bullied mom, I was bullied, like, once. In kindergarten. You don't have to worry about any of that stuff."

"I know, but it's just that you're so smart and people can be so jealous. Remember when you were in middle school and some boy threw down one of those cute pins I made you?"

I snort unattractively into my palm. "Felicity, that's not funny. In fact, many people would call that a trauma."

I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "I love you."

"Hmm," she says picking up her cereal. "I might love you, too. But hey, whatever this change is, I like it. You act so old all the time. It's good seeing you all blushy and emotional. Reminds me that you're still a kid. Well, my kid."

I grin. "Always."

pop me a few lines. you know i adore them.