[So, I have a note for you! I've changed ages for this fanfic.

Ages: The ANTs are 15. The entire series has taken place, but the ANTs are 15 and the big-kids are 17/18. Does that make sense? K, well the ANTs have always been 15. Does that make sense? Ah, you'll get it when you read it.

Also, I know Olive's worn make-up before, but in this, she hasn't. And Fletcher and Chyna never broke up.]


Olive's P.O.V.: "I just wanna let you know, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," Chyna quoted. "And that is exactly what he said."

I sat cross-legged on the ANT Farm sofa after lunch on Thursday. Chyna was telling me what happened on her last date with Fletcher. I blew my bangs out of my face. Sometimes I regretted getting that haircut.

This was the first time I'd heard they're dating. I was kind of pissed that she told Lexi before me. But, I'm not going to show it.

"...and he clung to me all the way down the hall. I swear he's part suction-cup."

I've never told anyone, but I like Fletcher. Correction, love. Well, I did tell in Australia, but everyone thought I meant it platonically or that my brain was all screwed up from the heat.

Chyna said something about a really cute yet off beat song. I just nodded. I stopped really paying attention to what she was saying about five minutes ago.

I occasionally wondered what he saw in her. Don't get me wrong, she's amazing. She's talented, sexy, decisive, and clever. But so am I. Right?

Am I?

No.

I'm just the girl that answers all the damn questions no one even asks.

{ANT Farm}

Chyna's P.O.V.: It was five minutes after the bell rang Friday morning and Olive wasn't at school yet. She'd never been late or absent. It was starting to worry me.

A girl walked into the ANT Farm. She was wearing UGGs, dark-wash denim short-shorts, and a coal black t-shirt that showed her belly and lavender bra perfectly. And, yes I'm looking, no homo, it was a very big bra indeed.

She was fairly pale. Her hair was straight, long, blonde, and in a pony-tail. There were also hot-pink streaks around her head.

No... Wait... It can't be...

It was Olive.

"Olive?" I called. She looked at me with eyes outlined in black with pink eye-shadow. She looked like one of Fletcher's amazing paintings of me took a crap on her face. "What did you do to your... EVERYTHING?"

"I makeovered myself," she said.

"Why?"

She leaned into me and grabbed the Pop-Tart I was eating. I hadn't had time for breakfast that morning. She took a big bite of it, made a really grossed out face, and spit the bite onto the floor. She handed it back to me and scraped the rest off her tongue. "Ew."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Interesting Factoid: Pop-Tarts will..." She slapped her forehead. "Face palm. I mean, it's grape. I hate grape."

"Great... But you never answered my question. Why did you change?"

She opened her mouth like she was about to say something when Fletcher walked over. She then lunged herself at him and wrapped him in a hug. "Fletcher!" She squealed, over dramatically, "I haven't seen you all weekend!"

"OK." I was so confused. "Why the hell are you hugging my boyfriend?"

"No reason," Olive replied, almost hurt. "I was just happy to see Fletcher."

Apparently Fletcher was happy to see her, too, because he looked like he just met Aquaman. I crossed my arms. "You could be happy without physical contact, though."

"It's fine," Fletcher said and pecked me on the lips. "She is, after all, my best friend." Olive scowled slightly. "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were going to Paisley's party tonight. She invited me and said I could bring a friend."

"I'm going," Olive said, before I could even open my mouth.

"Me too," I added.

"Great! See you there." And with that, Fletcher walked back to his easel.