Author's Note:

Mina's story will finally unfold! I was between titling this Everybody's Changing from the song by Keane or obviously Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield or even Unwell by Matchbox Twenty. I thought this fit perfectly because her story - to me, to her, to everyone is so unwritten. Anything can happen and I don't even know what the next chapter will be like. This story takes place a couple months after Serena and Darien's wedding. It's late September so Serena and Darien obviously haven't had the baby yet. Just so everyone knows when exactly this is taking place. I'm not dwelling on what happened with Darien and Mina and the confusion with that because it's all in the past now and not part of Mina's real story. Obviously romance will come - eventually. I'm not sure when I'll start that up, but probably soon. It's a story of finding yourself - even if you're thirty as Mina is in this story. It's never too late to start your true story. With no further ado I present to you Unwritten.

Read, rant, review!

FP


Unwritten


Chapter 1

I stepped out of the terminal with a big yawn and a quick shake of my head. God, I need coffee. Real coffee, none of that fruity crap people like to believe is coffee. It's too early to be up. I know it is. The world should know that but of course since when has the world followed by my rules? Well, usually in the past it has. Lately, not so much.

I stride forward, knowing I shouldn't linger too long anywhere so that I don't stop the traffic of the busy, busy people.

Bunch of drones.

I can't help thinking that. Most of them are dressed in suites and they have those blue tooths or whatever that lets you talk to people without actually holding the cell phone. You know, use as few muscles as possible. Who in their right mind would actually hold up their phones? I know I'm incredulous myself.

I've never been much for technology. I know how to use my Samsung something or something. That's enough for me.

And, okay, maybe they're not all pod people. There are normal people, like myself and there are other less fashionable people too. No, I'm not self absorbed. I just know my own skill. No one can claim the same fashionista title that I can. Not designer, no. I like to save my money thank you very much. Which is actually a secret of mine if you must know. Most people think I'm this impulsive shopoholic who spends all her money on shirts for a couple hundred and jeans worth as much as my entire wardrobe combined. I just happen to be a genius at finding sales and finding actually good clothing as well. I'll give you an example.

Right now I'm wearing my favorite black suede knee high boots with the black panty hose that make my legs look fabulous- come on, I know they do. As if to prove it, one of the drones just checked them out. To go with that I'm wearing one of my favorite ruffly black skirts that goes to mid-thigh and a tight beige V-neck sweater that accents all the right curves and none of the wrong. To make the look appear a little brighter and hotter I matched it with this shimmery green scarf and a biker jacket just for kicks. It's a bit risky, sure. But I can pull it off. Even better than that, people look at it and assume things. The hobo purse that a woman across from me just eyed, everyone thinks it is Coach since the trademark signs are on there- its fake. But a good fake. My skirt, they have one just like it in the Versace line. A guy passing by just checked out the sliver of cleavage the sweater reveals. I won't even mention the others. I'll bore you to tears. Actually, real fashion sometimes bores me to tears. I like creating my own, it just so happens that designers follow my trends. I should be the one on magazine fronts…

Instead I'm an almost-thirty year old screw up. If I'm being completely honest I expected greater things from myself than this by this age. A waitress at Anne's Bar/Restaurant on fifth? I mean… I like it. Most days I really do when I'm not confused for another kind of entertainment. If one more drunken loser tries to grab my ass, I'm seriously quitting.

Kids, this is what you get for dropping out of college.

You get to be best friends with a prominent doctor, an established editor and up-and-coming author, a big-time lawyer, and a chef that owns a chain of restaurants. Not that I'd want any of those jobs. Not that I even resent them for their success. They've all worked really hard for where they're at – career and significant others.

It's just… I really was happy for Serena last May. She looked absolutely stunning and Darien's expression when she walked down that aisle was just about the sweetest thing I'd ever seen. But as I stood there, I couldn't help but look at the people around me. I mean really look at them. My best friends are all amazing women. Who are all incredibly successful career-wise, happily married, and most of them have started procreating. I'm the last holdout.

And I'm not even holding anything back. I jump into love with guns blazing, yet somehow my heart always ends up broken.

Serena barely even dated and the first man she'd basically ever really liked turned out to be the love of her life. Too-busy Amy got Prince Charming without even blinking. Ray fought and fought and still there was a man to catch her in the end. Lita, well, that was never a surprise – she's been with Kevin basically since I've known her. Either way it doesn't really matter.

As I stood there at the front of the church, I felt out of place. For the first time since I'd met the girls back in high school – over a decade ago -, I didn't feel as though I belonged. I was no longer Mina the quirky, girly best friend. I was a fraud sucking up the energy from other people's happy endings. I was holding onto their happiness with every fiber of my being. I knew I was.

The thing is I couldn't even – still can't – tell the girls that. I know what they'd say. "Mina, you're being ridiculous! We love you!" I know they're right in a way. But in another way, I'm completely right. I don't have as big a place in any of their worlds anymore no matter what anyone says.

And I could live with that. I can. If I had a place in the world for myself, but I still feel lost in it. That's why the pod-people bother me even more. Because even if I'm not one of them in the sense that I walk around ignoring strangers and speaking into a little gadget twenty-four-seven, I've become one of them. I can feel my enthusiasm has drained. My old energy gets harder and harder to conjure with each passing day.

I'd spent the last few days off visiting my Gran Beccy in Minnesota. I have to go now before the weather over there is too unbearably cold. I thought maybe my energy could find a new power source there – probably not because of the place but because of Gran. She's the family member I most relate to. At least I used to. She's crazy energetic and always has a smile on, I swear she was born like that. Whenever I have a complaint she seems to have the answer. I enjoyed my time with her, but I didn't find whatever answer I was seeking with her. I just feel more lost because she seems so at ease with the world.

"If I go now," she'd told me at some point on the trip, "I'd be really happy. I'm fine either way, but I know I've done all I really can in this world."

Her words had come out of the blue. We hadn't been talking about death at all. We were watching absent-minded TV when she'd said it. I looked at her in confusion and a great deal of sadness because even if she was done with the world, I couldn't think of the world without her. She'd laughed at my expression- not in a sinister way, but a little sadly if it is possible to laugh out of sadness.

"Minny," She's the only one that ever calls me that, but I like it when she does, "I'm trying to be wise old Gran. I've never been much for deep talk, but I can tell you need it." She'd known something was off with me and I thought I'd hidden it well. "If you can find something that makes you want to get up every morning, but at the same time feel completely satisfied with what you've done at the end of the day then you'll get to where you want to be. Like me." She'd smiled that old wicked smile then. "Except hopefully not with quite as many wrinkles, it's hard to lure in all those sexy Grandpas with a face like this."

I'd laughed and kissed her cheek affectionately because even if she tried to be serious she couldn't keep it up for long. But she was right. I had to find something that made that light spark again. For the longest time that spark was lit up by my friends and sometimes sex. But apparently that's not enough anymore.

I started playing 'Part of Your World' because Disney songs always seem to have the answers for me. But this time it just leaves me more confused. At least Ariel has a goal in the world – she wants feet. Even if it seemed impossible at least she wanted something and she got it. I'd always liked Disney Princesses because of that. No matter how stupid or out-of-reach their dream seems – getting a prince like Sleeping Beauty or looking for knowledge and adventure like Belle – they always got it.

Well, my four best friends got their Happily Ever Afters. I think it's my turn, right? That's how it works.

And just as I think this and step out of the airport I realize it is raining and I am without an umbrella. Well, I suppose I can't have it all.

But I'd get those freakin' feet. I would. As soon as I figure out what those metaphorical feet are exactly.