What He Wrote

Chapter 1

A/n- I will probably only be able to write most of my stories on my iPod because I originally write all of them on my typewriter (pictured above) and don't have a great computer to use. I apologize in advance for the lack of indentation. Thanks and enjoy!

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She hated her name. She hated her parents for it, too. She'd never respond whenever her parents would call her by her real name; instead she would wait for them to correct their mistake and say her nickname.

Her name was Isis.

Her parents, Josephine and Bill, were both Egyptologists that had met when they were forced to work together on an exhibit. They fell in love over Hieroglyphics, jewels, and mummies. It seemed like an instant, love-at-first-sight type of thing. I will tell you right now that nothing good comes from that sort of love, and Josephine and Bill were the perfect example why.

Josephine quit her job when she became pregnant and moved into a picture-perfect suburban home in the states while Bill remained in Egypt for work. Josephine and Isis stuck out like sore thumbs amongst the plastic people and molded personalities. If there were to be a reason she hated her name, that was it. She hated the rude attention she's get from it.

So, Isis bargained with her parents and came up with Cleo. They had told her that she could rename herself only if her new name was linked to Egypt. She figured that Cleo was short for Cleopatra, and her parents could live with it. Of course, she never introduced herself as Cleopatra. She was just Cleo.

But she was never the kind of person you can put just in front of. Saying that she was just Cleo was like saying "just Ghandi" or "just Einstein"- it didn't do any justice.

I still remember meeting her. She was in my English class and my Journalism class. She was fairly popular, but instead of bathing in the popularity, she acted like the attention was unwanted. There was one unfortunately articulate asshole who was always hitting on her and playing with her hair in English. He sat behind her, and I remember being jealous that he got to be so close to her while I was across the classroom.

You see, her hair was this unique, wavy mess from constantly being braided and unbraided. It could never seem to decide if it would rather be blonde or brown or red. The result of the scuffle was a jaw-dropping color that would perfectly disguise a new penny if you were to hold one up to her hair.

Thus her second nickname; Copper.

Since I had no friends in this English class, whenever the teacher would say to partner up I would be left sitting there and waiting until I was forced upon a group who's partner was absent.

That day our teacher decided she had had enough of the shuffle that occurred when it came to picking partners and assigned us groups of three. I was put in a group with Cleo and the unrequited asshole. It was smooth sailing at first, even though Cleo and I had done most of the work. As long as obnoxious lover boy left us alone, we were great.

That didn't last long.

The immature meathead took the work time as an opportunity to ask her out. As you can most likely imagine, that didn't go over well.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand why I would want to date you if I don't even want to be your friend." She had said.

He was used to girls falling at his feet and begging him to date them or sleep with them or whatever, so such harsh rejection was a bit of a slap in the face. But that was just the beginning. The real slap in the face came, quite literally, later.

"Seriously? Not even one party? I can guarantee you'll become even more popular."

Even I knew that had been a crappy thing to say.

"If I wanted to be more popular, I would be. Now I suggest you be quiet before you say anything else you'll regret."

"Come on, you won't even hook up with me?"

That was when she slapped him.

"Get this through your thick head. I do not like you. I would spell it out for you, but I think that would be even harder on your microscopic brain. Now leave me alone."

The gods must've been watching it all play out and wanted to increase the finality of that moment because the second she finished her sentence the bell rang. Cleo got up from her seat, grabbed her stuff, and flipped her hair all in one fluid motion before walking away with swaying hips.

I glanced at Mr. Obnoxious jock, who looked at me and said, "What just happened?"

Shaking my head, I said, "You've got to be kidding me."

I then ran out the door in pursuit of Cleo. I found her shoving books into her locker.

"Are you okay?" Cleo looked at me, surprise and perhaps anger present on her face.

"Yeah, I'm used to dealing with all that."

"That sucks."

"What?"

"That you have to be used to idiots like that hitting on you."

She paused, looking at me with raised eyebrows. "Would you like to come over to my place?"

"Uh-what? I mean, yeah. When?"

"Well, the universe seems to be pushing for this to happen because I have nothing going on right now but the rest of my week is booked."

I remember pinching myself and internally asking if she was for real.

"Then yeah. Let's go to your place. Now. Out of nowhere."

Cleo smiled and grabbed my hand. "Come on, I hope you're okay with walking to my house. It isn't far, I promise."

Those were the days.

I have memories now. Lots and lots of memories. Memories of school dances spent as if no one else was in the sweaty gym. Memories of car trips to unexplored cities and bike rides to and from each other's houses despite having cars. Memories of holding her sobbing body in my arms as we dealt with the worst news one could possibly get.

But they were just that.

Memories.