Crushed
Brigid McMahon
Little Black Sheep Publishing
Copyright © 2020 Brigid McMahon
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author/publisher.
To all the boys I've crushed on before and to the one who finally won my heart, my husband!
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
About The Author
Dear Reader
Acknowledgements
Author Note
In no way, shape or form, am I condoning student/teacher relationships or abuse, by writing this book. These individuals prey on young people, taking advantage of their confusion and inexperience. They play with their emotions and in past decades, if caught, the authorities would simply look the other way. The abuser then went on to continue teaching in another part of the country, his or her past covered up for the sake of propriety. But not anymore. If you or anyone else you know is being abused by anyone, especially an authority figure, PLEASE tell someone. This story, while fiction, is unfortunately being played out in many schools and other places around the world. It's not love, it's abuse. End it today.
Chapter One
Trying to decide what to wear to school is right up there with life's most important decisions. Like where to go to college, and which boy to date and lose your virginity to. You would think of the three, the clothes would be the easiest, but for me, it's not. I have zero fashion sense. I'm most comfortable in jeans and a sweatshirt with my hair up in a ponytail and no makeup.
But I'm not allowed that option.
My best friend, Kim Turner, is THE most popular girl at Bridgeview High, where we're both seniors. Kim wouldn't be caught dead with someone who doesn't dress trendy and cool, so it's actually a miracle she lets me hang around.
I have no idea what top should go with what jeans, or skirt, or if I should wear a tank top, or a sweater, or a dress or these shoes and that purse, etc. My closet is full of stuff Kim said I needed to buy at the mall, but I rely heavily on the internet and Teen Vogue to tell me what goes with what.
I stand there in my bra and panties and stare at my closet, baffled. At least my hair and makeup are already done. I've been blessed with very clear skin, and I go for a more natural look with just some bronzer, eye shadow, liner, and mascara. And I wouldn't even do the liner and mascara if Kim didn't insist on it.
"Taryn!" Mom calls up the stairs. "Kim's here, she's on her way up."
Saved by the Kim! Relief floods my soul as my best friend sails into the room. Of course, she looks perfect with her torn jeans and a sea-foam green sweater. The sweater brings out the green in her eyes, and her blond hair is flowing down around her face and shoulders in soft waves.
"What is taking you so long?" Kim puts a hand on her hip and glares at me. "Seriously, can you not decide what to wear again, Taryn? Jesus, you suck!"
She shoves me out of the way and sorts through my closet for a minute.
"Sorry, you know I struggle with this."
While Kim rummages through my clothes, I recheck my makeup in my full-length mirror. Everything looks in place, though I can't help cringing at the faded scar that runs just below my chest to right above my belly button. When I was five, the doctors' discovered, I had some kind of congenital heart defect, and they had to do major surgery to repair things. My heart is fine now, but I was left with this crappy scar, which means no super low cleavage or bikinis for me.
"Here, hurry up!" Kim throws an outfit at me and then searches for just the right shoes.
The girl does have a gift; I really love what she's chosen for me, and I wonder, not for the first time, why I couldn't have figured it out myself. I slide on the whitewashed torn jeans and pull on the white cami, then the pink cropped sweater.
Kim tosses a pair of grey slip-on tennis shoes at me and then starts rummaging in my jewelry box.
"I can't do this every damn morning, Taryn!" She grabs some pieces from the box and hands them to me. "Seriously, you have got to step up your game if you want to continue to be my right-hand bitch."
I smirk and slide on the leather bracelets she's handed me, one in black, one in grey. Then come the pearl earrings. Pearls! Well, shit, I never would have thought to wear pearls with jeans.
"Okay, does this meet with your approval?" I pose saucily for her, and to my dismay, she shakes her head.
“Your fucking hair. Seriously, you were going to do something with it, right?"
"Uh, I thought I had!" I had braided my long brown hair down my back and actually thought it looked really cute.
Kim shoves me into the bathroom and plugs in my curling wand.
"Sit!" She pushes me into the vanity seat and begins applying hairspray and gel while the wand heats up. "So, you and Patrick? What's the latest and greatest?"
Kim starts wrapping strands of my hair around the wand.
"Oh, just the usual." Patrick Winegarten is my current boyfriend. We've been going out since the beginning of senior year. For all of Junior year, I had a major crush on Patrick, who
