The Bad Boy and The Know It All

Chapter 2

  Arabella tentatively raised her head, and fixed her inquisitive gaze on his, examining him from beneath the fringe of her eyelashes. She was startled to see the boy from outside towering over her desk. His charcoal beanie was pulled down his forehead nearly obscuring the dark slashes of his brows. Delicate eyelashes cast long shadows down the sharp planes of his face and she found her gaze involuntarily dropping to his surprisingly succulent mouth- ‘Snap out of it Arabella!’ she mentally chastised herself. She had never been interested in men before and she’d be dammed if she started now. Composing herself she fought the beginning of a telltale blush that was inevitably coloring her complexion.

“Take a picture I will last longer,” she suggested wielding her sarcasm as a shield.

To her dismay those full lips quirked into a cocky grin as his hand dipped inside his back pocket and returned with a calseless iPhone. Startled by the flash’s blinding light, Arabella nearly lost her balance on the cool metal stool. With a newfound rage fueled by the stranger’s utter lack of respect and poor regards of personal space, her usually cool disposition flew out the window as the boy slid into the empty lab station beside her.

 “Thanks for the picture chica, it’s going to look great on my wall. My names Ruben by the way. Were going to be lab partners so you may want to settle whatever beef you have with me now,” the guys stated nonchalantly.

 “Three things, one you will delete that photo from your phone immediately, two I have no idea what ‘beef’ means, I doubt your referring to a cow because that seems completely irrelevant and while I find you quite rude I doubt your insane, thirdly you may address me as Arabella not chica and definitely not celia.” She ticked off the demands on her fingers, after having plastered on her frost queen mask. The face was usually reserved for the most harrowing of social encounters but was a necessity if she wished to conceal her interest in the rude stranger.

 To her disbelief, Ruben bit his lip as he attempted to keep a strait face.

 “Arabella was that supposed to intimidate me? Sorry niña but you come up to about here on me,” he said indicating to an area a good three inches beneath his collarbone. “ And besides it takes a bit more than a prissy gringa to scare me.” He finished rolling up his sleeves to reveal an artfully decorated tattoo sleeve and a series of angry looking scars that marred his olive skin.

 The gang flag seemed to stand out with blaring clarity against the paler skin of his inner wrist, marred by the thick scars, which wormed their way all the way up his forearms before disappearing under the hem of his t-shirt. Arabella’s first instinct was to pull away, yet she managed to fight her rising panic and stroked her finger over the colored ink, watching as it left goose bumps in its wake.

 “That’s enough,” he muttered gruffly as he yanked his arm into his lap.

 Before Arabella could inquire how he’d ended up looking like he’d fallen into a meat grinder the teacher called for the students attention. “Good morning class now as I was saying last class, my tutoring time will no longer be posted on the class blog-“

 Arabella turned her attention back to Ruben who was doodling on a page of his notebook. He looked kind of cute like that she mused it wasn’t long before se began to study him with rapt fascination. Why the strange boy captivated her attention the way he did was beyond her. Ruben was trouble; the boy had tattoos for Christ’s sake and those scars- Arabella shivered at the memory of seeing the mutilated flesh of his inner wrists.

 Sighing aloud she found herself she reverting further into her childhood self and while her insides were a scrambled mess, she attempted to regain control over the situation. Everything would be okay as long as she remained poised on the outside. Such a funny word, poise. The five-letter world had dictated nearly every aspect of her childhood and she supposed old habits died hard. The Sit up strait, shoulders back, legs crossed at the ankles. Her mother had always stressed the important of looking the part, fake it to make it she supposed. The last thong she needed was Ruben knowing he had her gut tied in knots. Her final hair flip was followed by a muffled laugh. Ruben held the front of his shirt over his mouth and attempted to cover his laughter with a few forced coughs. 

“I’m sorry but what is it your doing, the stick in your ass just doubled in size,” he managed to choke from behind the thin cotton of his shirt.

His snarky comment wasn’t lost on her and she wracked her brain for some sort of witty reply only to be cut off by the bell. The room’s volume rocketed from a low murmur to a chorus of scraping chairs, shouted byes and a mad dash to the door.

 “See you around Celia,” Ruben murmured in her ear before slipping around the other side of the tale. Her involuntary response to his touch had her cursing aloud.

 “¡Vete usted mismo!” (F*ck off) She called to his retreating form.

 Ruben had the audacity to wink, “All the time chica.” He backed out the door with a final salute and it was then that she noticed he carried no backpack. Ruben was a mystery to her, a mystery she had no intention of solving.