Junior Year, 93-94
A Novel by
Megan B. March
Copyright 2015 Megan B. March,
All rights reserved.
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2546-7
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to my husband, Bryan, for allowing me to take this leap and do what I truly love. Thank you to my beautiful and talented daughter, Nyah, for your impeccable ability to find mistakes and for giving me honest feedback and constructive criticism—I know I can always count on you to tell me like it is. Thanks to my editor, Toni, for your patience and all of the sound advice and recommendations—these stories would not be what they are without you! Last, but certainly not least, thanks to all of my friends and family members who continue to support me in this venture.
Prologue
“Jensen? Oh, my god, it is you!”
Jensen and I were pulled out of our conversation by an energetic girl with beautiful hair that was a rich, deep auburn. Although in a ponytail, the girl’s tresses fell in big, lazy curls down to the middle of her back while a few stray hairs fell about her face. Watching as the girl bounced in our direction, I looked over at Jensen for a reaction.
“Wow. Savannah?” Jensen looked shocked to see the ponytailed young woman, who stopped in front of the table we sat at. “What are the odds?” he wondered as he rose from his chair to awkwardly hug the girl before sitting back down and glancing over at me. It was obvious the two knew one another.
“Hi, I’m Savannah,” the girl said, introducing herself and extending her hand out to me.
Before I could say a word Jensen jumped in. “Oh! I’m sorry. Savannah, this is Mia. Mia, Savannah Nellis.” The odd way he said my name meant something.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I extended my hand to Savannah. She took my hand in hers graciously, but an uncomfortable air suddenly surrounded us and I began to feel discomfited. Savannah didn’t keep me guessing as to how she and my fiancé were acquainted for too much longer.
“Are you going to school down here?” Savannah pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat backwards on it. Instantly I was reminded of when Nate and I met for the first time during freshman year after I had been attempting to skip math after a misunderstanding with Jensen. Nate had called me out on it and had gotten me to class. It was also the first time he had asked me out.
Jensen shook his head. “No, I’m not going to school down here. I’m, ah, we’re … on the annual trip to visit my grandparents,” Jensen stumbled. “I’m going to Stanford, if you can believe that.”
“Wow! You got in? Congratulations!" Then to me she added, "He’s been talking about Stanford since we were freshmen!”
“Oh, you lived in Juneau?” The dots had been connected as it suddenly became obvious the two had known one another in high school back in Alaska. However, I still felt I was missing something.
“Yes, but we moved away a few months into sophomore year.” She touched Jensen on the shoulder and smiled at me. “Did Jensen tell you I broke his heart?” Her question was like a light going off in my head. No, it was more like a dozen flashbulbs going off in my face. This was Jensen’s first I was meeting.
Tell me do you think it'd be alright,
if I could just crash here tonight?
As you see I'm in no shape for drivin',
and anyways, I've got no place to go.
-Gin Blossoms
Can't ever keep from falling apart at the seams
Can I believe you're taking my heart to pieces?
-Duran Duran
1. Our Lives Fit in Small Boxes
It was a Saturday in early August and I was at the Meyers’ house lying on my fiancé’s bed propping my head up with my palms. Jensen Meyers and I had been dating for nearly two years now; those two years were not without their highs and lows. From my trouble with Kyle Meade, a crush who turned out to be a bad choice, to my friend Nate McEntyre's untimely persistence of his feelings for me, the past couple of years had been rather intricate. Included were the emancipation from my mother, Jensen’s marriage proposal, our first intimate night together, and Jensen’s memory loss resulting from the terrible car accident, which happened the following day. Of course that led to his reunion with Alyna DellaTorre, and onto my success at winning him back by singing a certain song that brought his memory flashing back to the present. We had been through a lot together and this next chapter of him going off to college was another point in our story.
Watching Jensen pack up his room, I sat quietly on the bed while lost in my own thoughts about how we'd manage apart. I had taken the week off from work to be with him and to help with packing since he’d be on his way to Stanford in a week. To say I was struggling with the myriad of feelings from one moment to the next would be an understatement. It also didn’t help that the music he had playing in the background had switched over to a slow song that was quite familiar to me. The acoustic guitar and the artist soulfully singing about the actions of love being more important than the words reminded me of an afternoon I spent with Mika, my seventh grade boyfriend, when his parents weren't home. On that day I’d heard that particular song for the first time on his stereo system. He pulled me up from the couch in a somewhat cheesy move for a seventh-grader and made me dance with him. I remember laughing hysterically because Mika, who was trying to sing the song, messed it up terribly by singing all of the wrong words.
“Wow … what happened in here?” Jensen’s younger sister Alicia said as she barged into his room and broke my thoughts about Mika. She sat on the bed and leaned against me as she tucked her light brown hair behind her ear out of habit. Alicia was a year older than I, but we would soon be in the same graduating class since I had almost enough credits to be considered a senior and planned to graduate early.
“What do you mean ‘what happened in here’?” Jensen looked at her pointedly.
“It looks like a bomb went off. It’s a little disorganized, don’t you think?” Alicia waved her hand over the stacks and piles of Jensen’s belongings, which were in obvious disarray.
“I prefer to think of it as organized chaos,” Jensen shot back smiling.
“Is he boring you
