They Never Expected

Chapter 1

 1  Life was never really a concept that I understood very well. I was one of those people that was best defined as a cynic. Not to mention that I was under the impression that, because I "got out there and did stuff" as I put it, I was milking my life for all it was worth. But man, was I wrong. There were so many possibilities over the course of my life, so many paths to choose from... There were so many people whose intentions were really actually sincere. Every now and then I would step out of character and trust someone's intentions, but then a single fall would send me spiraling and claiming I was too scared to get back up and try again. Unfortunately, rather than tackling it like it seemed everyone else who had the same problem did, I just let life's course go on as I'd been raised to and lived day-to-day wondering how I would manage to get through the next day without a single person to trust. Since I never really felt that I had much influence, I never tried to change my life's course. Being a band kid didn't help all that much either since 'respect' and 'band geek' never resided in the same sentence around our school. We were those outcasts that struggled to maintain a healthy amount of self-respect because none of the other kids at school gave us a chance to prove our worth. Regardless, I let my life continue the way it had since the day I'd been born where school occupied the never-ending days of the school year (obviously) and weekends always found some way to be classified as "too booked" for anything but what was written into the schedule. Most days meant school, lessons, marching band practice, being picked off one by one by the football team, and then off to work. The days that wandered from this routine were inconceivably rare and never lasted long. My life was plain and boring. It was pitiful. I admitted that to myself on a regular basis. But then a day arrived that made a never-ending ripple in every boring routine that had become a part of me. He arrived. 

"He" had a name, and it was Isac. The day that Isac came into my life was just as normal and unbearably dull as any other day at school until my English teacher introduced him to the slumbering pupils and sat him next to me in my AP English class. Literally, his very first words to me were, "You're an artist, aren't you?" 

Now, I knew they were rather peculiar first words coming from a total stranger and my cynicism reflexively led me to believe that he was simply teasing me. I mean, as far as he was concerned I was just some weird girl with her face buried in a copy of Jane Eyre for entertainment. That would've been anyone else's first hint to keep their distance (which was part of the reason I had chosen the book in the first place) so why pick on me? But I ignored the weirdness of the situation, pretty much immune to it after my experience with the regular school day's share of drama. So,  rather than answering into the desk like I traditionally chose to when I had absolutely no idea who was talking to me, I used a small amount of my oh-so-valuable reserve of energy to look up. Something in his voice had caught and held my attention long enough for me to respect his misplaced interest in me anyway. 

"I noticed your handwriting. It's really similar to my own," He paused for a second and leaned down onto my desk like all the other guys in the world did when they were trying to impress a girl and then continued, "I guess you could call me an artist..." he ran a hand through his hair before continuing, furthering my stereotypical opinion of him, "I took a class last year discussing how to tell someone's hobbies through their handwriting and yours caught my eye. I'm Isac by the way." He reached out a hand, obviously expecting me to shake it. Was that his pitiful attempt at flirting? I mean it wasn't like I was un-dateable or anything (not to sound arrogant, but I'm actually pretty decent looking) but everyone knew which kids were in the band and they made it absolutely clear that no one wanted anything to do with us. Apparently this kid hadn't gotten the memo yet. All misconceptions aside though, I actually managed to bring myself to shake his hand. Despite my wariness toward his personality, I peeked over at his paper on the desk to my right, looking for some similarities in each of our scrawls. Yep. Just like mine. His handwriting was so much like my own, in fact, that I actually considered asking him to finish writing the three-page short story Mrs. Rupp had given to us at the beginning of class. He was so casual about discussing the similarities between a random person's handwriting and his own that it didn't seem like he would be all that offended or opposed if I actually decided to.