trouble | i.g

three - "cigarette threats"

Bella's POV

"I'm sorry, but I was told I can't talk to you."

I stared at the boy sitting on my right, who was currently refusing to give me eye contact. Instead, he kept his head bent and body turned away while he scrawled furiously on his paper. All I had asked for was an answer on the math sheets we were currently working on in class (because I had most definitely probably gotten it all wrong) but instead I get a stammering mess of a classmate.

"What do you mean?" I exclaimed in exasperation, "We've been sitting next to eachother all year?"

He glanced around the classroom nervously, gnawing on the end of his pencil, "And it's been fun, but I'm only doing what I was told."

"And who told you that?" I asked.

The boy paused, looking hesitant before he finally says, "Ian Gallagher."

"You've got to be shitting me." I deadpanned, making several people turn around at the sound of my outburst. In all honesty, I shouldn't be surprised. All my recent problems seem to be rooted back to that red copper head of hair. Assaulting me in the library and forcing his way into my own house was one thing, but now telling other people they can't talk to me? That was a whole new level of controlling maniac. I made a mental note to never introduce myself to odd new kids again.

"Yeah," He continued, doodling absently on the cover of his notebook, "In the lockeroom we were talking about some of the stranger girls we could totally get ourselves off on, and I said you-"

"Wait, why am I considered a weirdo?" I interrupted haughtily, then paused, "Why do boys even have these conversations? I didn't ask for these details, Matty."

He shrugged, looking alarmingly casual about the whole thing, "But when he heard that, he got all mad, and sort of threatened me and told me I'd better back off."

And so, when the bell rang, I did something I never thought I would; I got up and actually went looking for Ian.

"You look like you're on a mission." Holly commented as I pushed my way through the hall, eyes roaming over the crowd for a flash of red copper or pale skin that shone rather luminous, as it drank light from the moon.

"I'm looking for Ian," I grumbled, "Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, sitting behind bars ten years from now."

Her guess was relatively close, because I did end up finding him sitting slouched and looking irritated in the plastic waiting chair outside of the principle's office. His ginger eyebrows arched in surprise and a smile broke out across his face when he saw me approaching him.

"Bella Young," He greeted, "For what do I owe this dear pleasure?"

I stood in front of him with my hands on my hips, flicking his hands away as they graze along my wrist. I was not in the mood for his trouble today, "Why are you telling people they can't talk to me?" I demanded.

Ian ignored the question and slid a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tipped one out, "Getting right to it then, aren't you?"

"You can't just tell people that." I huffed angrily.

"But I did," He replied, and held the pack out to me, "Would you like one?"

I shook my head, watching curiously as he pulled a cracked blue lighter from his pocket and made it spark, causing a tiny orange flame to flare up and dance dangerously close to his face. Putting the cigarette to his lips, he lit it and took a slow drag.