An Unexpected Destiny (Completed)

An Unexpected Destiny

NOTE: all characters, places, and other things of Brave belong to Pixar. Any information I have acquired about the characters and people has come from the movie, Disney website, Wikipedia. Any facts about Scotland have come from visitscotland.com. I do not own Brave, but it would be awesome if I could. 

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Dull Life and Outsider Girl

I am absorbed in my historical fiction book when the bell rings, more like shrieks. Shoes squeak and desks scrap against the dusty, sticky floor of the private school I attend, telling me that every normal teen my age is rushing to get out of the old building that by junior year begins to be seen as an architecturally pretty prison. I didn't want to think how senior year would feel. That would make me think of how I have two more full years of high school to get through before I can escape this town. 

I groan inwardly as the second bell sounds off, pulling me away from Ancient Greece. I close the book slowly, with a lot more respect and care than my peers do. Besides the horses at the stable where I take lessons, books are my best friends. I am reminded that I do not have any close human friends today, as I am everyday, for no one walks over to my desk and chats with me as I close my backpack and stack my textbooks in a pile to take to my locker. No one even says bye as they walk out door, or glance up from their desk when I get out of my desk and toss the straps of my LL Bean backpack over my small, tan shoulders, and pick up the pile of textbooks in my long arms, walking out of last period. No one except the history teacher, a kind, middle-aged woman.

I say bye over my shoulder, wishing that I had eighth period more than once a day. I love history; always have. It used to be something I was quite proud of when I was a kid; well-rounded history knowledge in grade school impresses all adults and most peers. High school is different. I figured that out quickly; history is in the past and my generation of the technology and sex-obsessed found it boring and useless. Little did they know that they would be history someday themselves. I actually had the guts to say that one day in class, resulting in some harsh teasing, even from people I considered friends. Yeah, you really are my friends. I weave through the crowd of loud and hormonal teens by myself. Myself, everyday. It is not like I do not talk to anyone. I am not the reclusive, suicide potential kid; I am the introverted, book worm who daydreams stories and foreign lands. I was the girl who liked Celtic and Gaelic instead of rap and Spanish; riding horses to playing video games; writing stories to texting. The last oddity freaks everyone out: "No texting? Take me to the hospital, I'm having a heart attack!"  

I mentally snort at the silliness. At my locker, I make eye contact with anyone who looks directly at me while gently setting every one down, even the dreaded biology and chemistry books. The locker next to mine is having books dropped into it like rocks being thrown into a pond. I cringe. The owner of those books is one of the handsome soccer players, who doesn't care about honest work because his rich parents pay his way. Obnoxious. "You could be a little more gentle with those." I say, not taking my eyes off my own locker. 

"Why? They are already beat up." He says this as if he cannot fathom my question. I sigh and close my locker, actually slam it. 

"They may be beat up, but that is no excuse to damage them more. Textbooks are quite expensive and take forever to make." He looks at me, still confused. 

"So what? The school pays for them. It's not my problem."

Of course it's not your problem. Nothing is because your parents pay for everything. Therefore, you never experience any negative consequences that may occur. I shake my head and adjust the bag's straps on my shoulders. 

"Do you have any idea how valuable books truly are? In the Middle Ages, they were treasured and protected, not- " I stop, because Soccer Player is staring at me like I am from the Middle Ages. Like I'm some eccentric, elderly scholar who has to spout out all the knowledge she knows in order to live the glory days. "Oh! Never mind. " I say, throwing up my hands before turning on my heel and quickly walking away. I can feel him watching me walk away and I hear his friends crowd around, asking what in the world Strange Agnes wanted. I hear laughing, my name mixed in. I turn the corner and jerk my chin up, hazel eyes staring straight ahead. I refuse to show any hurt, to give them anything to go on further about. I am not a crier, but I have a very expressive face. 

I have never really been bullied, just teased. There is a difference. The people I talk with and eat lunch with--I guess my 'friends'-- tease me about my quirks. They tease me about drinking tea instead of coffee; about working at a dog boarding place, which I don't really care for but it's better than McDonalds. 

I've made it out to my car without anyone talking to me. Surprise, surprise. I dump the bag on the backseat and pull my keys out of the back pocket of my khakis. I climb in, shut the door, and roll down the driver's window all the way. Wavy tendrils of brown hair brush my cheeks. My hair is not the pretty chocolate or coffee brown, but the lighter, slightly reddish brown. And it isn't in gorgeous ringlets, but rather kinky waves that refuse to succumb to a flat iron. Hairspray, however, works fairly well-- at least with my straight bangs all the way across my forehead. I am one of the few seventeen year olds who can pull them off. The reason why the popular girls dislike me. "Petty, petty, and such a trivial reason." I mutter, starting the car. I carefully pull out from my spot on the side of the street. When I am on the main road, sunglasses in place and wind swinging my short braid and loose tendrils and the sun is making the green leaves glow, I turn on the radio.  

Rap blares through the speakers and I listen for a moment. Can't take it anymore, so I flip to NPR. This is how I speak. No major slang or overly common words for me; thoughtful sentences constructed from more refined but suitable words is what comes out of my mouth. This is what freaks the community out. They cannot understand why a teenager, especially one of a small country town, doesn't use double negatives or y'all. They cannot understand that I would love to speak as they did in Regency England, or even just higher society speech would be sufficient. It is not that I hate my town, because I don't; I am just tired of the people who find opening day of hunting season a legitimate reason to be absent from an English test. I dislike how dull and fixed life is here. There is no adventure once you know every inch of backyard woods. There is no huge celebration, except the Fourth of July and only because the holiday is an excuse to drink a lot of beer. I just want to actually LIVE a real life among people who do not see me as an oddity. 

I turn east onto the highway. That is not to say that I dislike everything here, I consent, feeling a little guilty. There were truly kind people and some fun cultural ways, but... There was more out there. I knew it. I wanted to be part of something bigger, more important than this squat town with townspeople leading completely mundane lives. There was nothing even close to magic here, just corn and soybeans. No one saw what I really wanted; there were times I wasn't sure what I really wanted. It mattered not, however. I have never fit in here. I have always been on the outside looking in. Cliche, I know. Even when I was in grade school it was this way, so this was not the typical teen pity party of woe where I feel God has treated me unfairly. My life was good plainly speaking, but I wanted more. Not materialistically, but spiritually- ? 

I shake my head. You are too much in your mind, Agnes. It was a major flaw of mine: deep, often philosophical thought when I should be living more in the present. I look out the windshield at the bright blue sky dotted with white clouds ahead.

"God," I begin, "Or whoever up there who cares to listen: I would live my days more fully if I had a reason to. If I had someone to share my days with. I've tried Lord, you know I have; I've tried to become closer to another, but no one is comfortable enough. You know what I'm asking, I'm willing to work hard. I just need a little help. Hear my prayer." And with that, and with a slightly reassured feeling, I settle into the driver's seat more comfortably and give my thoughts over to radio conversation for the next twenty minutes.

Note: I know this first chapter is slow and a little overwroughtwith background, but it will get better!