The first week doesn't go as badly as their first five minutes together and Felicity supposes she's grateful. Oliver is behind on his work, like, incredibly far behind, how did he even get promoted to the next grade when he hasn't turned in a homework assignment in literally years behind.

Felicity felt a little faint when he told her that. The rich really really do it differently.

However, it's clear that Oliver is smart. Not as smart as her, of course, but in the past week, he's picked up on multiple concepts quickly once she explained them and applied them easily to the mountain of chemistry homework he had to go through (she had to start with that subject first once she heard the grand sum of his chemistry knowledge. Looking back, she probably should have led with math but the hydrogen thing stuck in her craw). No, the problem is definitely not his academic potential.

Felicity can't help but think that the phrase 'herding cats' applies specifically to Oliver. Great googly moogly, he has zero focus on things he doesn't care about and flits around like a magpie searching for something shiny. In a weird way, she can understand it—he literally has nothing to work for. He was born rich, he'll live rich, he'll die rich and his great great grandchildren will die rich too (assuming an asteroid doesn't hit the earth, of course). But still...he has no internal motivation?

"Not really," he says cheerfully.

Dammit. "Look," she says, "I'm going to say things that don't make sense every once in a while, maybe even more, let's be honest and I'm asking you to ignore it because I don't really mean to say it out loud and I'm relying on the kindness of strangers or well, you, to look the other way."

"Felicity, you're kind of weird," Oliver says with a smile.

"Wow, thanks, the Oliver Queen charm coming out in full force, I see, not that you would be using charm on me, of course, I'm a tutor, not a potential girlfriend-"

"It's not a bad thing, I'm just saying," he cuts in, blithely ignoring her rambling.

She tries not to grimace. "Weird is abnormal. I know I'm not in the 50th percentile and I'm good with that, really but maybe you don't have to say it?"

Oliver fixes her with a bland look. "If you're good with it, why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset!" Felicity protests. "I'm just...whatever, I'm fine. Have you finished the equation yet?"

"No motivation, remember?" Oliver reminds her, twirling a pencil around his fingers. "Let's talk about this aversion to weird you have."

Felicity freezes him with a look. "Nice try. You do realize that a degree in psychiatry requires a high school diploma? Back to the problem."

He leans forward and grins. "But I'd rather talk about you."

Felicity huffs in irritation. "No, you'd rather avoid anything that requires a modicum of effort."

"So you think I'm lazy?" Oliver asks, a hint of ice creeping into his tone.

Felicity pauses to replay what she just said and winces. "No, obviously you wouldn't be quarterback if were lazy," she says trying to cover.

"So I'm a dumb jock then?"

"What? No, I didn't say that-"

"So I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot!" she cries out in frustration. "Look, you knew nothing about chemistry a week ago and I practically had to teach you algebra, for crying out loud, did you even show up for sophomore algebra because I'm not sure you did and now you're doing the homework like you paid attention in class for the past year. It's actually kind of amazing. You're smart but, and I can't believe I'm actually saying this when I'm not a 50 year old teacher, but wow, do you not live up to your potential by a long shot."

Oliver tilts his head, considering her. "You've known me for a week and you can already tell what my potential is?"

Felicity looks away and tries not to flush any redder. "You were trying to psychoanalyze me a minute ago so you're not really one to talk. Just...finish the problem, okay?"

Oliver just hmmms and turns back to his homework. "You never answered my question, you know."

She huffs and starts going through the mountain of paper his bag gave up when he opened it. "Your potential is clear to see if anyone bothers to look."

"That's not what I was talking about."

"Okay, I'm sure you're not lazy. If even half the rumors are true, the number of girlfriends you've had would require a tremendous amount of work."

Oliver narrows his eyes at her for a moment then laughs and leans close. "They're all true," he whispers.

Felicity smiles sweetly at him. "Then I can't wait for you to use that romantic experience in your essay on Much Ado About Nothing for your English class," and waves the homework assignment in front of his face. "It's due tomorrow. We'll work on it after you finished chemistry."

He looks at her innocently over the top of the paper. "I'm not sure I know what the proper form for the essay is."

Her lips thin in displeasure again. "Nice try. I'm fairly certain you know how to spin a tale and that's basically all an essay is." She pauses, wondering if she should encourage him to take shortcuts when they've really just started. Probably not. "We'll make an outline. Just try to keep coffee shops out of it."

"I bet I could work it in," Oliver sing songs.

Felicity groans and drops her head to the table. "I've made a huge mistake."

The real mistake comes next week when she's sitting at her lab table for Chem II before the period begins. Because that's when Tommy Merlyn and Oliver stroll through the door, just before the bell rings, smiling and laughing and she doesn't immediately push them back out the door and lock it behind them.

There is no way, no way that they could qualify for this class. She knows Oliver's grades, she knows what classes he's taken, she's hacked into the school system and seen them (she was bored on the weekend and she didn't change anything, she just wanted to poke around and see if she could and once she was in, what was she supposed to do, not look? And wow, Mr. and Mrs. Queen must have been pulling strings like people were puppets because Oliver's grades were not good). She bets that Tommy's GPA is similar. But she just stares with the rest of the class, astonished, as they hand a piece of paper to Mr. Zytle.

"We're transferring into this class," Oliver begins helpfully.

"We love chemistry," Tommy says, a winning grin on his face. "So interesting, so explosive."

Mr. Zytle glances down at the papers and back up at them. "You boys have managed to test into this class?" he asks, disbelief clear.

Felicity's sure you can't test into an advanced course when you haven't passed any of the prerequisites. She's sure that even if current students could, Oliver and Tommy wouldn't.

And yet.

Oliver is just looking at Mr. Zytle with that same look he gave her when they first met, like he's willing an entire education system to bend to him.

Mr. Zytle sighs, looking down at the official record, defeated. "There's an open lab table in the back."

Felicity stares straight ahead, forcing herself not to look at Oliver as he walks down the aisle (she's supposed to be discreet, why would she know Oliver, why would she notice him even if this the most insane thing she's ever witnessed). The other students have no such compunctions. Their heads swivel around to mark his progress down the aisle.

Oliver grins and drums his fingers on her lab table when he passes but doesn't otherwise acknowledge her existence and then he and Tommy claim the table just in back of her. And of course, of course, Oliver doesn't sit directly behind her, he sits on the other stool so that if she turns her head at all, she'll see him out of the corner of her eye. She resolves to look straight ahead for the rest of the semester. She's an excellent student and chemistry is fascinating (not as fascinating as computer science, of course, but the rules and logic appeal to her); she firmly believes that she will have no trouble sticking to her guns.

Four seconds later she sees him opening his textbook.

Felicity ambushes him the second she gets into his room that evening.

"What are you doing?" she demands.

Oliver looks up from his homework (his homework! He's actually doing his homework! She could almost cry.) and gives her a blank look. "What?"

"What. Are. You. Doing?" she grits out.

"My homework?"

"No! How did you get into my class? I know you don't have the prereqs, how did you get in?"

Oliver shifts uncomfortably. "My parents thought it would be a good idea to have a class with you so they arranged for me to join."

Felicity gapes at him and suddenly, horribly, it all clicks into place. "Arranged? You meanbribed? You bribed the principal—no, it must be the superintendent—to get into Chem II? Why?"

He waves his hand, not looking at her. "Because, you know, it would keep me on track. Keep me focused."

She drops into a seat near him. "You're in the class with your best friend. Both of you are well known for blowing off most of your courses. I can't talk to you in class or, you know, acknowledge your existence because I'm supposed to be 'discreet' and I'm pretty sure I'll lose a kidney if someone finds out about our little arrangement-"

Oliver's brow furrows. "Arrangement?" he mouths.

"-so how am I supposed to keep you 'on track' when you're not supposed to know I exist?!"

"Good point, I'm going to need your phone number," Oliver says calmly.

"What?"

His eyebrows raise. "Your cell phone? Football practice is gearing up, our first game is in a couple of weeks, my schedule is going to be crazy. I need your number if something comes up."

Felicity gives him a look. "Like a cheerleader or...?"

He gives her a slow grin. "Speaking of, I may have to cut tomorrow's study session short but I was thinking more along the lines of if practice runs long. I'd hate for you to be waiting for me."

She tries not to flush at his insinuation but the sparkle in his eyes lets her know she's failed. "Yes, yes," she mutters, pulling out her phone, "very clever. Give me your number and I'll text you."

Oliver gives her a strange look. "Why don't you just give me your number and then I'll call you?"

"Or since I have my phone out, you can give me your number right now."

"It's easier if you give me yours."

"What, you don't know your own number?" she scoffs.

He stays suspiciously silent.

"Oh my God," she explodes. "Are you serious?"

"Girls usually give me their number," he says stiffly.

Felicity lets out a half horrified, half completely fucking amused gurgle. "Right, right, of course. Give me your phone." He reaches over to hand it to her and her fingers brush against his. She tries not to be Victorian literature about it but the flutter in her stomach betrays her. She focuses on pulling up his number on the phone (and not setting the language to something like Mandarin) and turns the screen towards him. "See this?" she says, leaning forward. "This is your phone number," she explains slowly.

Oliver flexes his (ridiculously attractive) jaw and takes a deep breath. "Thank you," he grits out.

Felicity chuckles as she turns the phone around and sends a text to her phone. "There, now I have your number."

He grabs his phone back from her. "What did I text you anyway?" He looks down at it and frowns in confusion. "Hello world?"

Felicity waves him off. "It's a programming thing. Let me text you and you can grab my number."

A soft chime on his phone goes off and he glances it at before smiling and saving the information. "I'm going to need a picture," he announces.

"What? No, you don't. It's better if there's no picture to identify me."

"I think you're taking this discretion thing a little too far."

"You're not the one who loses blood if we're found out!"

"I thought it was a kidney?"

"You know what I mean!"

"I don't, actually."

"I signed a contract, Oliver. And I'm pretty sure that your mother is going to enforce it. And I don't even really know what the penalties are for breach of contract, oh man, I should have talked to Laurel, we have government together and she wants to be a lawyer-"

"Felicity," Oliver says firmly.

Her eyes dart over to his and she takes a deep breath. "Sorry."

Oliver shrugs. "You were kind of spinning away there."

"Thank you for bringing me back." That didn't sound weird, right? She clears her throat. "How did that essay on Much Ado go, by the way?"

"I got a B+."

Felicity smiles at him in genuine pleasure. "I knew you would do well on it." She leans forward and puts a hand on his arm. "We'll get that grade up in no time."

He stares at her a moment and blinks before quickly bringing his phone up and snapping a picture. "Got it!"

"Oliver!" she growls and lunges for the phone but he just laughs and leans back, holding it high above his head while he punches buttons. He puts his hand on her shoulder and she freezes. His thumb is perilously close to the hem of her neckline, almost brushing the skin of her neck. Absurdly, she can feel her heart rate increase. What is wrong with her? He's not even really touching her.

Oliver turns his head suddenly and all at once she's staring at his face which is much much closer than she realized. "It's a good picture," he says.

Felicity blinks slowly. "So do I get a picture of you?"

Oliver tilts his head. He hasn't removed his hand from her shoulder and she hasn't moved back. "I thought you were all about discretion?"

That jolts her back. "You're right, better if I don't have a picture-"

"I'll do it," he says quickly and grabs her phone. The camera flashes and he hands the phone back to her. Damn the man, Felicity thinks. He even takes excellent selfies. It's totally unfair.

"I practice," Oliver comments offhandedly.

Felicity makes a strangled sound.

"He's not lying," a deep voice suddenly says. Felicity sucks in a breath and turns to see a tall boy leaning up against the door frame. "You should see him after practice. It's unseemly the way he takes pictures."

"Digg!" Oliver laughs. "What are you doing here?"

Felicity tries to quell the rapidly rising panic in her chest and tries to think of excuses of why she's at Oliver Queen's house but her mind can only come up with terrible stories (flat tire [why are they in his bedroom], she's fixing his computer [why are they at his desk in his bedroom], she's his new weekly girlfriend [yeah right but it would explain the bedroom]) so she keeps quiet while her mind spins in place.

Digg holds up an ipad. "Coach wanted us to go over the playbook, remember?" His eyes cut over to Felicity curiously.

"Shit, that's right," Oliver swears. "Felicity, we're going to have to finish this later-"

"So, you're his tutor?" Digg interrupts.

"What, no-" Felicity starts.

"Yep!" Oliver says at the same time.

Felicity tries not to let out a frustrated scream.

"Digg won't say anything," Oliver says easily. "He's got my back. No one is supposed to know I have a tutor, very hush hush, top secret, you understand," he explains at Digg's questioning look.

Digg laughs and pushes off the doorjamb. "John Diggle," he says, smiling and introducing himself to Felicity. He walks over to the table and tosses the ipad on it. It slides right into Oliver's hands.

His full name keys a memory in her. "Oh, we had freshman Spanish together!" she remembers. "I'm Felicity Smoak."

"Yeah, I know," he says dryly. "Hard to forget the smartest one in the room."

"What?" Felicity laughs. "I was awful at Spanish. I took my two years and dropped it."

"Mmmm, you seemed pretty on track to me."

She sighs, remembering the struggle of trying to force her brain to pick up the language. "Only because I was up every night, studying until I fell asleep." She shakes her head and frowns. "I should have been better at it."

Oliver glances up from the tablet. "Are you expecting to be good at everything or something?"

"No," Felicity shakes her head, "I just should have better than I was." She shrugs. "Spanish follows rules, I should have been able to do it."

Oliver tilts his head like he did when he was questioning her about his potential but doesn't say anything. He just gazes steadily at her and she feels her cheeks starting to burn so she turns her attention to John. "So, um, I know Oliver joked about it but I really really need you to not tell anyone that I'm here."

John laughs. "Not the first one to be ashamed of being seen with this guy, I get it. I've been covering his ass for four years. Tommy Merlyn probably has even more stories."

Felicity lets out a little giggle while Oliver rolls his eyes. "Not ashamed," she assures him, "just that Mrs. Queen wants me to be discreet and I signed a contract and I think if it gets out then shrrrrrrrt." She draws her thumb across her neck like a blade. Her brain catches up to her body and she risks a quick glance at Oliver to see if he's perturbed by her implication that his mother has an easy relationship with murder but he doesn't seem bothered by her mouth.

Digg gives her a small smile. "I've had English with Oliver for two years and I haven't seen him turn in a paper on time until last week. And he even had some things to say during class discussion about Benedict stopping Beatrice's mouth and how she didn't speak for the rest of the play. It wasn't hard to guess that something was going on with him. Queen is sort of an idiot," he says with a fond tone in his voice.

Felicity turns to Oliver, a soft smile on her face. "You participated in class?" Participation hadn't been a requirement of the contract so she never pressed the matter in their sessions.

He doesn't look at her, just glares at Digg. "It didn't seem right that she didn't have any more lines when she's the funniest one."

A bubble of pride threatens to burst in her chest. She knew he could be a good student, she knew it. "Oliver, that's wonderful."

Oliver just shakes his head and snorts but she can see the pleasure in his eyes. Her smile widens and hums softly while she gathers her things together.

"Wait, where are you going?" Oliver is frowning while he tracks her movements.

"You guys have your...football thing." Felicity makes what she thinks are vaguely football related gestures but judging from the narrowed eyes of the boys, she probably just insulted them. "I need to go anyway so..."

"Why don't you just stay until Digg and I are done?" Oliver offers. She can see Digg's eyes slide over to look at Oliver. "You can finish your homework here while we do this."

"I can't," Felicity sighs regretfully, glancing at her phone. Mom needs her at home. "My homework is already done and my mom...worries." She slings her bag around her shoulder and absently pulls her hair out the way of the strap. "If you have any questions, just text me, okay? I'll try to talk you through it. John, it was nice meeting you. Um, again." She gives John a quick smile and turns to Oliver. "I'll see you tomorrow? We have lab in chemistry so if you and Tommy could not blow up your pretty face, I'd appreciate it."

Felicity realizes what she just said a split second before a slow grin splits Oliver's face.

She can feel his eyes on the back of her neck as she flees the room.