Hello from Belgium,

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As I promised, here's another chapter of The Songs of You and Me. If you missed a previous chapter, go back to your inbox and search in the promotions tab or junk folder...

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Fourteen Years Earlier

JANE

Jackson had been gone for three months now. When he first left, I felt my heart break in two. I cried myself to sleep that night I left him on “our” bank of the Hudson, and I watched him leave early the next morning from my window. I didn’t go out and say good-bye to him. I couldn’t. We had our moment the night before, and it could have been the moment for us. But it wasn’t, it was good-bye. Whatever I thought I might have seen hidden in his eyes wasn’t really there. It has taken me months to accept that Jackson and I would always and forever be just friends. I dealt with this fact, but that didn’t mean I liked it.

This year, I was a sophomore in high school and finally sixteen. Although my thoughts often wandered to Jackson, I’d noticed there were some pretty hot guys that tried their best to distract me, one in particular.

Michael Taylor, the guy who sat next to me in my Honors English class, made it his mission to get a laugh out of me each time we were together. Mr. Baker had noticed it more than once, and it had earned us a few warnings so far.

If I was honest with myself, I liked Michael, enough to get over myself and my mopey ways to go out and think about having fun with a guy. And Michael was the right kind of hot to have some fun.

He was a little taller than my five-seven frame, with blond, shaggy hair that had that kind of messy look that totally worked for him. He had a tanned complexion, and with his light blue eyes he looked more like a Californian surfer than a junior at Bellebrook High. Michael was toned, not in the athletic kind of way Jackson was, but he was ripped enough to make a girl stop and look. Some girls might even stop and ogle, but not me. You wouldn’t catch me ogling him (ahem).

Michael and I hit it off that first day in English. I walked in as the bell rang, indicating the start of the lesson. As it was our first period of the semester, Mr. Baker didn’t make an issue of calling me out for being late, but he soon ushered me off to the only available seat, which happened to be next to Michael. I still couldn’t imagine why the seat next to him would have been free, because April Henderson was giving me the stink eye the whole lesson, clearly upset I got to sit next to Michael, the class hottie.

Either way, we ended up being seated next to each other throughout the semester, and he brought a lot of fun to the lessons, especially the ones that would drag on. Mr. Baker was pretty cool, but when he started droning on about a certain point in a poem, he forgot we were even in class, and he entered into his own zone of American literature, not bothering to get us involved in his one-way dialogue. Those lessons would have been unbearable if not for Michael, who would crack a joke or engage me in some ridiculous conversation.

It was in one of those fun conversations he ended up asking me out on a date.

“So I saw The Bourne Identity movie this weekend in the theater.”

His voice picked up a little like it always did when he got all excited talking about a new movie. Michael was a huge movie buff. He probably went to see a movie each weekend and watched whatever he could get his hands on at home. He knew all the classics.

“You don’t say.” I feigned disinterest. I was totally aching to see Matt Damon in an action-packed movie, but no need to feed the fire.

“The special effects were pretty impressive, and Damon makes a very good Bourne.” He sounded like a real groupie.

“A good Bourne?” I stared at him, dumbfounded. All I knew about the movie was that it had Matt Damon in it, and he was all the incentive I needed to watch. I didn’t have a clue what the plot was about.

“Are you kidding me?” Michael looked at me like I had grown two heads. I just stared back at him, waiting for him to clarify.

“You’re serious, aren’t you!” His voice level was picking up, causing Mr. Baker to actually notice the students in the class and look our way. He gave Michael a warning glare.

“I don’t know why you’re getting your panties in a twist, Michael, seriously. Sometimes you are such a girl. Heaven forbid anyone says anything insulting about one of the movies you like.” I really didn’t get what he was so worked up about.

“Oh my gosh, Jane, 1988, Richard Chamberlain, the original Bourne. You have got to be kidding me. You never saw the original?” He gripped his heart, feigning actual pain.

“Michael…” I waited to get his undivided attention and hopefully none of Mr. Baker’s. “I was like what, four, when that came out? How the heck would I have seen it? And why would I watch it now?”

“You’re killing me here, Pierce.” Michael made a show of clutching his chest again and looking completely insulted.

“I’m sure you’ll get over it, Taylor.” I playfully nudged him in the side.

“We’re going to have to do something about your lacking movie knowledge. I don’t think I can be your English partner if you don’t brush up on your skills, Pierce. I mean it,” he chided.

“I could be convinced into staring at Matt Damon for two hours. This Chamberlain dude, not quite sure.” I didn’t even know who the heck Richard Chamberlain was, but I wouldn’t even share that thought out loud lest drama queen here went into cardiac arrest.

“Such a newbie. I don’t know if we can be friends after you dumping this on me.” I could see the twinkle in his eye. He returned the nudge, his hand lingering on my side. My cheeks warmed under his intense gaze.

“There’s only one way to fix this. I’m going to have to take you to the movies and educate you properly. You free on Saturday night?”

“What makes you think I want to be schooled?” I tried for flirty nonchalance, but with his intense stare and the heat of his hand still burning through my side, I sounded a little breathless.

“Trust me, you need all the help you can get, and I, as a Movie Master, am willing to help you out here. I think the decent thing to do would be to thank me profusely and ask me what time I’m going to be picking you up.”

“Aren’t you a classy gentleman? Your mom never teach you any manners, caveman? That’s not how you ask a girl out on a date.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized my mistake. I basically called him out on asking me on a date. He could have been asking me as a friend. There were only two ways this could play out: He could call me out and make a deal about it, or he could let it slide.

“A date, huh?” he said suggestively, wagging his eyebrows at me.

I guess there was a third option, and I was trying my darnedest to pretend like I had a clue what Mr. Baker was talking about, stop myself from blushing, and keep my cool around Michael. I felt my cheeks warming, but I refused to give in to his bluff. Instead, I gave him a sideways glance.

“I could ask Evan along. He might know a thing or two about Matt Damon,” I challenged, pointing out our classmate a few rows over. I didn’t trust myself to say anything more that wouldn’t dig myself into a deeper hole. I could see the challenge register on his face, and instead of cowering like most guys, he rose up like a real man. I had to give him credit for that.

“I’m most definitely asking you out on a date, so there will be no taking Evan along, you hear?”

He raised his eyebrows, making sure I wasn’t going to contradict him again. I couldn’t help myself. The action made me laugh, and a few heads turned in response. Luckily, Mr. Baker was really into his lecture and totally unaware of our banter.

“Jane Pierce.” Michael paused, waiting for me to look him in the eye. “Will you please accompany me to the movies on Saturday night?”

He gazed at me with all of his boyish charm, and I grinned at his theatrical display. He sure knew how to turn it on for the ladies, I would give him that.

“Well, when you ask me like that, Michael, however can I say no?” I batted my eyelashes and gave him a cheeky grin. He chuckled but settled down when Mr. Baker called him out, drawing even more attention to us than we already had.

“So, what time am I picking you up? And can I have your number?”

All of that played out on Monday, and today was Saturday, the day of our date. It was half past six and I was all dressed and ready, sitting in my room putting my lip gloss on when my dad passed by my door. He saw me and paused.

“You look beautiful. Going out tonight?”

“Yep, on a date with Michael. I spoke to Mom about it earlier this week.”

“Right. She mentioned it. That’s tonight?” Dad looked at me, his brows pulled together.

“It is Saturday, Dad, so yes, that’s tonight.” I smiled through my reflection in the mirror.

“You’re growing up too fast.” Dad walked over and dropped a kiss on the top of my head.

“Dad…” I chided, but secretly I loved the attention.

“Be home by ten, and don’t forget who you are.”

“Why, who am I?”

“You’re real funny, young lady.”

My parents always reminded me to never forget who I was, especially when I left the house. It was really sweet, but I liked to push my dad. Mom, not so much. But Dad, he could handle the joke.

“Eleven thirty?” I pushed.

“Eleven,” he conceded. Perfect; that was exactly what I was aiming for. Thank goodness my parents hadn’t figured out my tactics yet.

“Okay, Daddy.”

***

I was thrilled to spend two hours staring at Matt Damon. As excited as I was about this movie, Michael was like a little kid on Christmas morning, the way he kept going on about it.

It was 7:15 and we were seated in the theater, a couple of buckets of popcorn and enough soda that I might need a bathroom break during the show.

Michael had kept me engaged in conversation since he picked me up half an hour ago. As always, he was full of fun and jokes.

The lights dimmed and the screen lit up. Two hours of staring at Matt Damon executing flawless stunts was magical. You know how they say don’t get your hopes up too high, you’ll be disappointed? I had high hopes, and Matt Damon wasn’t at all disappointing.

Michael was enraptured, commenting on the special effects and fighting scenes.

“You know Brad Pitt was originally offered the role of Jason Bourne, right?” Michael commented as Matt Damon entered another scene. I found myself really enjoying this date despite his interruption and extra commentary.

The movie came to an end, and after a quick stop to the restroom—blast those sodas—we walked over to Michael’s car.

“That was such a great movie. What was your favorite part?” He was still riding a movie high.

“Eh…there were so many good parts. The one in the embassy was impressive.”

“That was great! And did you like the part where they were in his Paris apartment? I think Hollywood nailed that one.”

As we drove onto my street, I felt my insides tighten in nervous knots. I was not the kind of girl to make out with a guy on a first date. As much as I liked him, I didn’t know if I was ready to start something I wasn’t sure my heart was into yet. Would that even be fair to him?

“Let me get your door,” Michael said quietly.

I guess he was also nervous about the good-bye door/kiss moment coming up. It was actually a little endearing. The loud, confident Michael was obviously uneasy. It made me feel a whole lot less nervous all of a sudden.

“I had a really nice evening tonight, Michael.”

“Me too, Jane.”

He took my hand in his, interlacing our fingers. Something he wasn’t brave enough to do all night, I realized. The contact, although sweet, didn’t really affect me. I didn’t feel the butterflies exploding inside me like I did when I thought of Jackson. The air didn’t crackle and sizzle when our skin met, the way I felt myself ignite when Jackson’s hand sought out mine.

I saw the seriousness in the way he looked at me, and I felt a brick settle in the pit of my stomach. Oh no, he was going to kiss me. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but if him holding my hand didn’t do much for me, I doubted him kissing me was going to have me doing cartwheels on the inside, either.

Michael’s eyes closed, and as he leaned in, I made a split decision. I turned slightly. His lips brushed against the corner of my mouth, barely missing my lips. It was a sweet, soft kiss, with the right amount of pressure to be chaste for a first date. As much as I wanted to like Michael, wanted to want his kiss, I didn’t feel any kind of spark. I stood there, let it happen, and hated myself for not being able to enjoy this moment that could be the perfect start of something great.

When he pulled away, I could see the disappointment written on his face. Poor Michael. I rejected him, but he still awarded me one of his brighter than life smiles.

“Thanks again for a wonderful night, Jane.”

“Thanks, Michael.”

I watched him drive off, and I headed inside. Dad was sitting in the living room waiting up for me.

“How was your date tonight?” he asked, without taking his eyes off his newspaper. I knew my dad; he was chomping at the bit to hear, but he didn’t want to appear overeager.

“It was fine.” I forced a little extra enthusiasm in my voice, but he lowered the newspaper and looked at me. Really looked.

“Fine? Just fine? Not great, amazing, wonderful?”

“No, I guess not.”

“You guess?”

“I guess.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Well, honey, don’t aim for anything less than amazing, great, wonderful, or anything equally impressive. You hear?”

“I hear, Daddy.”

“Okay, then.”

He picked up his paper, but he didn’t fool me. I knew the moment I was in bed, he would follow.

“’Night, Daddy. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

As I lay in bed at night, all I could think about was how I wished it had been Jackson with me tonight. Why didn’t he want me like Michael wanted me? And why couldn’t I forget Jackson, so I could like a perfectly great guy like Michael?

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