My name is Bonnibel Bubblegum, and yes, I've already heard all the jokes and puns about it. I attend a high school that I'm not particularly proud of attending, and I am one of the most awkward girls you could meet. At first glance I seem in control and at ease, but I'm not. I'm missing something, something I expected my studies to help me discover. But it hasn't been found yet.

Recently I've had boyfriends, I've had a few, but they never felt right. I told myself it was because I'm young and they were stupid boys. Because they were, they were really dumb and selfish and arrogant. It was around this time that I met her.

Marceline Abadeer.

I had seen her around my school a few times, never said hello or introduced myself. I had all the friends I needed, and I had other things to worry about. I was failing my classes, my parents thought I was depressed and my boyfriend, Guy, had cheated on me with his band mate. So being polite was not exactly at the top of my to do list at the time.

I was sitting outside at lunch near the smoking area. Well, it wasn't officially a smoking area, it was a high school yard after all. In truth it was just a corner with a crumbling brick wall, a fence and a patch of neglected grass. Classy,right? I didn't smoke myself, but I liked it there.

Marceline was leaning with her back and her right foot pressed flat against the wall, ignoring the chatter of her friends, and taking long slow drags of her cigarette. That was when she finally caught my attention. She looked so tired and world-weary, like she was bored because she had everything figured out. She looked like she owned the very air around her, and that was amazing for someone like me, someone who wanted to fade away in the background. Her hair was striking black, pulled back into a long ponytail and she didn't wear makeup. She didn't really need to, she was already attractive. Unlike all the other girls around here that face-planted their makeup in the morning, ending up a dark orange with too much black around their eyes. She was m

She was much more attractive than I. The name Bonnibel, I find it ironic and cruel, as it means attractive. Or if preferred: fine, or pretty. And I don't see myself as any of that.

I have long hair, long because of my disinterest in hairstyles so I never felt the need to ask for a trim. It was brown, a light mousey brown that I always hated. My face is chubby, a chubby my mother always said was adorable but I found awful, it caused me to look much younger than I really was. My one redeeming feature would be my eyes, they were blue, deep and light if that was even possible. Though, no one ever paid attention to my eyes. Eye contact has never been a fun thing for me, and most of the time my eyes are glued to a book or a theory paper.

I like science, or much better, I like facts. I like to know the ins and outs of everything I possibly can, hard solid evidence is much better than a gut feeling or an emotional guess.

And that was why I had sworn off emotional attachments in high school. Emotions clouded judgements and changed viewpoints, and that was something I really didn't need. I planned on majoring in science and law when I left for college, that takes dedication and drive. Not messing around at late night on the beach, hiding a cheap bottle of cider in a bag when the police would show, as they always did.

I had never done that, all I know is what I had heard from students at my school. They'd laugh about how they had their names taken by police, being proud as if they had achieved something. No, I never saw the attraction to that.

I sighed and looked back down at my book, opened at a page I hadn't even attempted to read yet. It was the beginning of the new school year, which meant my timetable had changed. I needed to pick two extra classes, not connected to my main choice; Science. I had chosen Art and Music. Which in hindsight was a really bad choice. You needed some level of skill to succeed in those, skill I will probably never posses. The book I was trying to read, The Colour of Art, seemed easy enough to get through. All it contained was pictures and explanations of brush strokes and control, still I found it hard to concentrate.

"Hey, Princess." I knew who it was before I even turned. It was Guy, Princess was his pet name for me. I hated it for two reasons: I had never felt like a princess, and it felt like a cruel joke. The second was the fact he had first heard it used on a soppy old film we watched. He couldn't even find the time to think up with own term of endearment.

No, it was actually three reasons that pissed me off. The new addition being that we had just broken up, he had no right to use that.

"Leave me alone." I sighed, knowing that of course he wouldn't. He was persistent, refusing to ever leave things be. Much like an itchy rash.

I pulled my bag around and shoved my books inside, probably crumpling up all of my worksheets and notes as I did so.

"Oh come on," He whined as I pushed myself up and away from the wall I was sat on. "Can we talk?"

"What about?" I asked, though I never intended to hear his answer. "About how I never heard a thing about your band mates until you slept with one? About how we were dating when you did it? About how badly you hurt me, and how embarrassed you made me feel?"

"Well, uh..." He was following me, I hated that. I didn't know where I was going, I only knew I wanted to be away from him. At this rate we'd be walking forever, caught in an endless game of cat and mouse. "I wouldn't word it like that."

"Whatever it is you wanna say to me, say it to Kay."

"Her name is Keila." Guy mumbled, staying behind me.

I stopped walking and spun on him too quick, my book bag slipped from my shoulder and crashed to the floor, spilling books across the concrete. We had ended up much closer to the crowd smoking in the corner, all their heads snapped up at the sound of my belongings hitting the ground.

"I don't care what her name is, Guy." I threw my arms above my head before crossing them in front of me. "I don't give a stuff about her, or you for that matter."

I expected him to look shocked, or mad or upset. He just looked embarrassed, but not of what he had done. The crowd around us had began to murmur, and I was sure it was about us. Everyone else was still, there was nothing else to whisper about. And of course, some people were laughing quietly, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Look, it didn't..." He must have seen the look on my face. If he so much as thought about saying the cliché it didn't mean anything line, I would flip. "You love me, okay. I know you do. Can't we just forget all about this and move on?" He almost begged.

Okay, so he didn't say the cliché line, but I still flipped.

My hands seemed to move on their own, one grabbed at his collar and the other left a scorching red hand print on the side of his face. The sound of the slap echoed around us, and secretly I was proud of how loud it was. My palm stung like hell the second I hit him, so his skin mustn't have felt much better.

Good.

There were a few whistles and gasps around us, some laughing and some mumbling.

As my rage started to subside, I grew embarrassed. There I was, standing in the middle of a large group, one hand red and another still holding on to Guy's collar. Everyone had seen it, everyone had heard those details of my now ruined relationship. My face was bright pink, I could tell, hopefully those around me just mistook it for rage and not shyness.

"Alright everyone," I heard from behind me. "Show's over."

"But, Marceline," So that's who it was. The girl leaning against the brick wall. Marceline Abadeer. I didn't know much about her, but then again no one did. She kept herself to herself, emotionally that is, but she was fairy well-known. From what I'd heard, Marceline got on with a lot of different types of people. A regular social butterfly who knew the right crowds. Or the wrong ones. It all depends on what side of the track you're from. "I haven't even-"

"Marshall, come on. Bit of privacy, yeah?" Marceline said, tilting her head in my direction.

His eyes followed hers and he paused to take in the sight of Guy and I. I must have looked like a walking train wreck to him. He blinked and then gave me a tiny smile, one that almost said sorry about the audience. He was handsome, dark brown eyes behind black hair that fell in front of them, and he had a kindness to his face that I took to. I offered him a smile in return, one I hoped said thanks for not looking at me like I'm crazy.

"Alright, guys. Stub 'em out." He ordered lightly, extinguishing his own cigarette before flicking the butt over the fence. "Fi, you said you needed help with something?"

The short blonde girl on his arm jumped a little, apparently away with the fairies before Marshall addressed her. I knew her, kind of. She was Finn's cousin, moved here to be closer to her family a few months ago. Anyone could see the resemblance between the two, they both had this amazing mane of blonde hair, Fionna wore hers down when Finn always hid his under a tattered white beanie. I'd heard that Fionna had become fast friends with Marshall Abadeer, the friends part shocked me a little. They always seemed like much more.

"Oh, yeah man, this math work is killin' me." Fionna said, bringing her hand up to drag a hand down her face. The action made me smile a little.

As those two walked away, the rest of the group followed, most separating to go about their normal school day. It was still lunch period, so I had no idea where they were all going. It seemed like they all paid attention to Marceline and Marshall, thought I didn't think it was out of fear. Perhaps it was something else, respect most likely. Those two knew how to carry themselves, people are drawn to that. I was at least.

We were almost alone now, Guy and me, and I expected Marceline to turn and leave too, but she surprised me.

"Guy," She sighed, pushing loose thread of hair out of her eyes. "What did you do?"

"What?" I backed away from Guy, realizing then that I was too close for my comfort. Even if we weren't even in touching distance anymore. "You know each other?"

Marceline looked at me like I was insane. Then something seemed to click inside of her and she turned to Guy, raising an eyebrow as she did.

"We're band mates." She said, not taking her eyes off my ex. "Would have thought Guy told you that."

He just stood there, rubbing his probably sore face, not looking at either of us.

"Obviously not." She shrugged then looked back at me. "Marceline Abadeer."

For a split second I thought she was referring to me as Marceline, I almost frowned. Then I of course realized it was her way of introduction. It was one embarrassment after another.

"Bonnibel." I murdered, extending a hand for her to shake. Why I felt the need to be so formal, I still do not know. She didn't even glance at my hand, so I withdrew it, feeling dumb. "Bonnibel Bubblegum." I said quieter.

"Bubblegum?" Marceline asked, looking at Guy. It was like she was asking him if I was telling the truth. He nodded, finally taking his hand away from his cheek. It was then I saw the hand print there, and I allowed myself a smirk of victory.

"For real?" She smirked, thought it didn't seem mean. I thought she was going to make some joke or laugh, like most others had when they heard my surname. I'd been asked if my parents were high when they named me, or if it was really the family name and if I'd legally changed my last name to Bubblegum. Truth is, I don't even like Bubblegum enough to do that. Marceline wasn't mean about it, instead she surprised me again.

"Cute."

And that was it, the end of our first conversation, just as awkward as I was.

"Guy, I think you have some explaining to do."

He looked at Marceline, finally taking his eyes off the floor, and frowned. "We had an argument and I wanna move past it. If Bon can forgive me anyway." His eyes traveled to mine, but I turned away.

"Not what I meant, man." Marceline's eyes shut, as if she was dealing with a stubborn child and she was tired of it. "Tell her why you did it, say you're sorry and mean it, all that junk. I'm not the one who needs to hear it."

"Y-yeah." He stammered, as if Marceline was his mother telling him he had to apologize for pulling a girls pigtails.

"And don't think she has some duty to forgive you either, got it?" At his nod she finished up. "See you at practice And I'll see you around." She said the last part to me with a nod. I nodded back and threw her a small smile when I felt a little too formal again.

It was... surprisingly nice, to say the least. Marceline didn't seem like the type to jump to a random girls defense, especially when that girl just slapped her band mate. She wore her school tie too low, never wore her blazer and wore boots instead of school appointed foot wear. All stereotyped pointed to her being the kind of person to look after herself, but obviously that stereotype was wrong. About Marceline Abadeer at least.

After she rounded the corner, ends of long hair following her a second after, Guy took a step towards me. He only took the one after seeing me back away from him again. We stood in silence for a while, him rubbing his arm awkwardly and me trying to look like I wouldn't think twice about hitting him again. The stench of smoke was still lingering in the air and I had no doubt that it would probably still cling to me when I went to class, I'd have to ask Lady or LSP for some deodorant.

"Bon." He said it to get my attention, but I just couldn't look at him. It hurt, looking at him made me remember that he didn't want me. Not enough to actually stay faithful to me. I felt pathetic and used and like I was nothing. Not to him, probably not to anyone.

"I can't hear this right now." I said. I didn't wait for a reply, I just bent to pick up my dropped things. By then half of my notes had probably blown away or been trampled on, I hoped it didn't matter. They were notes from last years classes anyway. Still, I picked up all the sheets I could before grabbing my books and leaving, Guy trying to talk to me all that time.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! And before anyone goes off on one, yes, Marceline and Marshall did smoke in this chapter. But lately I've heard a lot about smokers being bad people. And I don't see how that makes sense, so I wrote about two good people smoking. Of course it's not gonna be a main plot point, it's just a little point I wanted to prove.

Anyway, would you like this to continue? I'm trying to get better at a full first person P.O.V so this kind of happened, but I have ideas for it. Let me know what you think?

Thank you for reading.