A Story Worth Telling

Chapter 5: Isabella

Chapter 5: Isabella

What was actually happening here? None of this seemed normal. Not only did my friends actually accept me as a writer, but they also seemed relatively excited. Jen, Kelly, and Rose, they all just seemed to be perfectly content with the fact that I wanted to write stories. So many things had happened in the last couple of days that I was almost reeling from the memories. I couldn't believe that, just yesterday, I had been asked to join a club for writers and I was so excited for the first meeting.

I had recognized the girl from my play writing class, she had actually seemed to be just as passionate about writing as I was, if not more. In the beginning of class, our teacher had asked us why we wrote and I remembered the looks that I got when it was my turn. Respect and understanding, that's what was given when I stated that I only wrote because I wanted to, that it was my passion and my life. I was understood, people really understood what it was that I felt and no one had judged it, and that's what made it amazing.

And now I was being invited to a writing group and I could finally be with people who understood my struggle and need to write, even when things did not make sense. I was content, almost thrilled at the idea of being with others like me.

With a contented sigh, I shoved the door to my room open and walked over to see my roommate and the other two sprawled on the floor, books and magazines all around them. I tiptoed over to them, studying how all three had their arms tucked beneath their heads as they laid on their side with their hair flowing around them. Biting back a smile, I walked over to my desk and picked up my computer.

It didn't seem fair for me to wake them, even though it was hilarious that they were already sleeping when it was only the first week of classes. Were their classes really that stressful? Minus Jen, I hadn't told them about my schedule and I hadn't even thought about asking about theirs. We were all majoring in different things, but we seemed to get along just fine.

Quietly, I pulled the door shut behind me, hugging my computer to my chest, my bag still hanging from my shoulder. I needed to find a quiet place for the next hour or two, somewhere that no one went and I could write in peace. But I didn't know of anywhere. I had hardly been here for a few days and I didn't really know where anyone was or would be.

I guess I would just have to walk around and find somewhere.

I quickly dropped my bag and slid my computer into it so I wouldn't have to worry about it getting damaged while I looked for a spot.

People dotted each road on the school grounds. Girls walking together, gossiping about the latest fashion and boys tackling and harassing each other, all of them had smiles on their faces, as if they were content with their life here, and I was sure that many of them were. A whistle sounded in the distance and another a moment later, then the track field appeared in front of me as I rounded the top of the hill. A lot of people crowded along the field on and off the grass and I wondered if they were all in the track team or if it was multiple sports teams practicing in the same place.

A few people were running around the track and, every few seconds, at the sound of the whistle, a few more started running as well. I couldn't hear anything from the distance I was at, but as I got closer I could see enough to see individual people. When I had reached the fence, a new group was about to start running and I watched as each of them bent down, their feet holding them up off the ground in the starting position. They were preparing to run at the sound of the whistle and I wondered if I knew any of the runners.

Then I saw Shane.

He was the farthest from me as he waited, listening for the whistle. He seemed almost excited, like he wanted to run. I saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face as his head lifted up to stare at the track, then the whistle blew. He kicked off with the others and shot forward, his legs and arms a blur as he ran, his body working together flawlessly. He was a runner, well and truly. Anyone could look at him like this and see that.