Michele's POV:

There are so many different types of people in this world.

So who would have guessed that the nerd and the football player would get together?

Or the princess and the prince would get married for that matter?

Stories today have gotten so cliché that it is hard to differentiate between a fairy tale and reality. So here is my story, which I promise is 100% true…mostly.

My name is Michele Smith. I am seventeen years old and I am in love.

His name is Michael Turner. He is nineteen years old and I am pretty sure that he sees me as nothing more than the nerdy girl in the local Starbucks.

He gets a black coffee and I order a Double Chocolate Chip Frappuchino without the whip cream. He has been ordering there ever since the place has opened a year ago, as have I, and we have never said a word to each other. Until today.

**

I am standing at the counter waiting for my order to be taken. This is the same girl that has taken my order almost every day. This is the same girl that seems to forget my name and drink every time I talk to her. The funny thing is that she remembers Michael and his black coffee perfectly. She is also excellent at remembering to write her phone number on Michael's cup.

Not that I am jealous or anything. He never seems to use it. Otherwise I am sure the number would disappear and she would deliberately gloat that she had his number. Either way though, he doesn't seem very interested in her.

She tosses her long strawberry blonde ponytail over her shoulder and flutters her eyelashes at Michael.

"Hello Michael, what can I get you?" She giggles.

**

Michael's POV:

"Same as usual, Emily." I can hear the strained annoyance in my voice. I wonder if she can too. I don't think she does because she smiles again and replies with, "Okie-dokie, cutie." I feel like groaning, and telling her for the seventh time this week that calling me 'cutie' is unacceptable, but I don't. I stay quiet and wait for my coffee to be delivered. I am willing to be my entire savings account that she will write her number on my cup again.

"That will be $2.75, Michael. Have an amazing day!" She winks and hands me the venti coffee.

Sure enough her number is there.

**

A pretty little redhead stares at me while I work on my laptop and drink my coffee. I know that she comes in here every day and orders some type of frilly, nonsense drink. But other than that, and the fact that she is strikingly beautiful, I know nothing about her. I run my hand through my hair and look up, only to catch her glance away quickly.

So, she doesn't want to get caught….

My lips twist into a smile and I stand up, tuck my laptop under my arm, grab my coffee and waltz over to her table.

Don't be too cocky. Don't be too cocky!

"Hi, my name's Michael. I noticed you looked a little lonely and was wondering if I could join you?"

**

Michele's POV

"No."

Oh. My. God. I can't believe I just told the guy of my dreams that he couldn't sit next to me. He looks confused. Maybe I look confused too. I probably do.

"May I ask why?" He sounds wounded, like I have crushed his pride. Maybe I have….

"No."

Oh my GOD! I did it AGAIN. I feel my eyes open wide with shock. My mouth opens but no words come out. I glance up at him again, but he has no expression on his face. Emotionless.

"I am so sorry. I've just been having a bad. Of course you can sit down." I try and grin, but I still feel the horrified look stamped across my face. He has cracked a grin, maybe because I look like an idiot. Or maybe because this was all just a terrible joke he was playing that backfired.

"Are you sure you won't tell me to leave when I sit down?" When he smiles, his eyes smile and I can tell he is extremely pleased with himself for coming up with such a witty joke.

I giggle, if only to amuse him, "You didn't need a comeback."

"Darling, if I wanted a comeback, I would have wiped it off your chin." I feel my eyes pop out of my head and his smile quickly fades.

Instead of being mad though, I find myself chuckling. Chuckling because he's nervous too, maybe more than I am. Chuckling because, even though the joke was offensive, it was still pretty funny. And chuckling because of the way his smile disappeared and he looked like he had shit himself, all in the matter of seconds.

**

Michael's POV:

She is laughing. And it isn't even one of those, I'm-only-laughing-to-make-you-feel-better laughs. She is genuinely amused.

I think I am in love.

Her laughing dies and so does mine.

I feel Emily the Barista's evil, shit-brown eyes glaring at me and the redheaded girl.

And then I have an "oh my God" moment.

I don't know her name. My jaw drops and I stutter a bit.

"I – I am so sorry." I sound pathetic, so I drop in a joke, "I don't believe I got your name, mysterious ginger girl."

Her green eyes slant as she groans sarcastically, "Oh, so you make dick jokes AND you call me a fire-crotch, before knowing my name?" She folds her arms over her chest and pouts.

"I truly am sorry, 'fire-crotch'. Would you be a doll and enlighten me?" I grin.

She juts out her coffee-free hand while glaring at me, "My name is Michele Smith, pleased to meet you Michael."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously what?"

"I walk over here, demand to sit down with you, make a cumming-on-your-face joke, call you a ginger and a fire-crotch and you are pleased to meet me?" I feel my stomach turn.

I really do think I am in love with this girl.

She smiles and mumbles, "Well, just because you don't have manners doesn't mean that I don't either. My parents raised a lady."

"So did mine."

"They raised you to be a lady?"

"Ye – no. I mean they raised me with manners. I have just forgotten a few along the way. That's all."

"Well you have an excellent way of showing your manners. "

"I know. All charming teenage boys have excellent manner-showing skills." I smile.

She frowns, "And just how are you charming?"

"Well you see, I haven't gotten to that part yet." I wink before standing up with my gear and leaving.

I don't think she cares, to be honest.

**

Michele's POV:

So you are sitting there having a nice flirty conversation with a boy, and then he stands up and leaves.

What the fuck.

Manners, he has not.

I am so frustrated that I actually pull out a few strands of my hair and twist them around my finger.

I chew my fingernails and tap my plastic cup on the table, my mind whirling. Wondering.

Why the hell did he just get up and leave? No good-bye. No excuse. Just…

The back of my receipt has a messy scrawl of writing across it. I slowly slide it to my side of the table and read the note.

Hello, Michele.

I guess I really did get to the charming part, because this is kind of it.

Meet me at Main Street to see the rest of my charming-ness at 11:00pm.

Sincerely,

Michael

**

Michael's POV:

I wonder if she has found the note yet. Maybe she left right after I did and didn't see the note. Or maybe she did see the note and is ignoring it because she really isn't interested.

Only one way to find out though and that is to meet her at Main Street tonight.

I am starting to wonder what I have gotten myself into. I mean, I barely even know her. It's been approximately, 20 minutes of conversation time between us and I am already jumping through hoops to make her happy.

I am her bitch.

**

Michele's POV:

Okay, so it's 11 o'clock PM and I am at Main Street. Waiting, in the freezing fucking cold, for a boy that I am head-over-heels in love with.

Even the fluffy marshmallow jacket that I wore isn't keeping the cold out. And it is 10 minutes past 11. It is 11:10 and I am starting to think that he isn't coming and this was all a cruel joke. Maybe it will be like Never Been Kissed and he will drive by in a limo with his super hot girlfriend while throwing eggs at me. And my fluffy jacket.

**

Michael's POV:

Shit.

I'm late and the street is empty.

**

Michele's POV:

So I am sitting on a bench in front of the sign that says "Main Street". It freezing and I'm slightly crying. My hair is blown into my face and a few people stare at me while they walk by.

I can't believe how many hours have I wasted thinking about Michael Turner. How many times I have wondered what it would be like to have his hand, his lips or even just his eyes on me instead of some senior that he met at a party.

I have realized that there is something even worse than wishing that somebody loves you back. Thinking they actually do love you is way worse, especially when they make it seem that way.

I think I am done with the romance scene. I'm going to pack away my boy crazy thoughts and worry about m y final year of high school.

What colleges will I go to? What will life hold?

"What will life hold for me?" I mumble to myself.

"Well, that all depends on how you feel about me."

**

Michael's POV:

Her eyes are wet with tears. Her lips are turned frozen into a frown and she is glaring at me.

"You're late." She growls. She reminds me of a jungle cat – claws out, ears back. Ready to pounce. I sigh, "I know. The car wouldn't start. I really am sorry."

I scuff my shoe against the sidewalk, waiting for her to say something.

Anything.

Maybe even, "I hate you."

At least it would give me a closer to this chapter of my life.

The chapter that never really got started.

Instead she stands up, still glaring at me. Her face is about two inches away from mine. She looks like she is about to say something, but pauses, probably contemplating exactly how tell me what and asshole I am.

"Are you planning on kissing me anytime soon?" She murmurs.

"No." I mumble back before pressing my lips against hers.

**

Michele's POV:

She is sitting on the couch. Her brown hair has fallen in front of her eyes, but she doesn't make the effort to push the strands away.

She is waiting for me, like a carcass-eating bird.

I approach cautiously, waiting for her to ask before I dive into the story.

"Can you tell me something please?" She whines. Her little brown eyes look up at me with her sad puppy-dog pout.

"Sure? What is it, silly?"

"Promise you won't say no?" She is sitting criss-cross apple sauce, like her teacher taught her.

"I promise, what do you want to know?"

"How did you meet daddy?"

I smile and think about ten years. I pull her up into my lap and smiled down at her. She is almost an exact replica of her father.

"Well darling, it all started with at a coffee shop…"