Instacrush

Instacrush

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, places, incidents, and dialogue are the product of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real, or if real, are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Lloydd Marshall

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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This book is published in both print and digital formats in the US of A.

ISBN: 978-1-943549-89-4

Instacrush

Lloydd Marshall

Las Vegas, Nevada

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

About the Author

Chapter 1

I hold up my phone as far back as it will go and smile brightly from ear to ear. It’s the seventh one I’ve taken in the last thirty seconds and I know, as soon as I capture it, that this is the one. This is the selfie that will show I’ve had one amazing summer and I am ready for what is to come.

Junior year.

Selfies are the perfect way to start to my junior year of high school. I stare down at my phone, quickly covering my hand over it so the sun’s glare is blocked out. My grin widens as I take in the teethy smile, the Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, and the sun-kissed hair.

One of the reasons I am so photogenic is because of my former pageant days. My mother’s voice is always clear in my head when the camera is in front of me, Eyes and teeth, darlin’, eyes and teeth! I used to be a former junior beauty pageant winner, but that phrase still echos in my mind even to this day.

I caption the post #greatestyearever and post it instantly. My heart tap dances in place when I see a text pop up from Jake.

Jake, my soulmate, is easily the most gorgeous guy in the school and he’s a senior. The first day we met I was already making plans for our 2.5 kids, white picket fence with a walk-in closet, and a dog named Fido. Jake has this kind of dreamy look about him--tall, dark hair, big shoulders, blue eyes. His looks instantly have girls drooling at his feet.

Sometimes, I can’t believe he’s my boyfriend. Not that I’m not a great catch or anything, but most average girls would consider Jake to be way out of their league.

I move my thumb quickly over the message to read his full text.

Mazzy, want to meet at Starbucks?

If it’s possible, my smile widens even more. Yes! I reply quickly.

I watch those tiny dots for what seems like an eternity when finally his message pops up onto my screen. Ill see you in 30 then.

Awesome! See you soon!

I have been in the backyard for the last ten minutes searching for the perfect sunlight for my selfie. But now I charge into my house with a new mission in mind: get ready in under thirty minutes.

My usual morning routine before leaving the house can often take hours. I will not leave the house without the right lipstick on and a matching accessory.

I quickly rush through the house to get to the stairs. I skip some steps, nearly losing my balance in the process, but finally make it upstairs. After my morning run, I had changed clothes but that was a look I reserved for lounging around the house. Now that I was leaving it, I needed to do about five wardrobe changes in five minutes so I could see which outfit I liked the best.

Hmm... I pull out a cerulean blue Jimmy Choos in one hand and my fire-engine red Louboutins in the other. Which do I want to wear?

I ultimately decide upon a form-fitting yet modest light blue sweater that matched the blue Choos perfectly. I pull on a black A-line tea skirt that comes to my knees. The small waves in my hair must go so I straighten my hair and then put it up in a very high ponytail. I examine my hair from one angle, then another. Yes, that will do. This is the exact runway model style I saw at Paris Fashion week.

Time for makeup. All I have on my face now is a light moisturizer and bronzer. I walk over to my vanity, plop down on the seat, and pull out my huge box of magic, I mean makeup. But really it is magic. One minute your ordinary, the next extraordinary. Makeup, like diamonds, is a girl’s best friend.

I press the Home button on my iPhone and curse silently at the time. I have less than 15 minutes before I meet Jake at Starbucks. I quickly apply foundation, powder, blush, lipliner, 7 coats of Forget-Me-Not pink lipstick, lip gloss, even more lipgloss, eyeliner, eyeshadow, mascara, and...voila! My look is complete. And with eight minutes to spare. Whew!

I rush down the stairs, almost breaking an ankle in my Choos. I stop midway down the steps, slip off my Choos, and then continue my descent to ground level. A broken ankle is definitely not how I want to start my junior year.

I’m out the door in seconds with my Marc Jacobs purse dangling on my arm. The purse was a birthday gift from my Nana. Even though she would never in her life tell me what it cost, I knew she got it on sale for $373. She must have received a deep discount at Macy’s because it used to be more like $475 originally. It was a gorgeous purse and worth every penny . . . even if it wasn’t my penny.

I’ve tried to be fashion-conscious without spending all the money in the bank. Beauty on a budget, as my mom would say. As a result, I am filled with so many DIY beauty shortcuts that I could fill a book. I actually made a plan that if I ever got put in jail, I would totally use a black Sharpie for eyeliner. Another trick— if you want to know how to make lip gloss, jailbird style— soak a red Jolly Rancher in warm water and then apply liberally! Of course, I’ve never really thought about how I would get my hands on a sharpie or a red jolly rancher but I guess I’ll just have to figure that out if ever the day comes that I end up behind bars.

I slip my Jimmy Choos back on and begin the short trek to Starbucks. Jake and I have met at the same one all summer, which is conveniently right down the street from my house.

As I walk to Starbucks, I start to think about my next Instagram post. It would be really nice to take a bunch of cute couple selfies that Jake and I can use for our wedding website. I want to be able to document our entire journey together.

We should apply to the same university too. That would be so cute having couple pictures from high school and college. We could wear matching University sweatshirts in one of the pictures.

Many people might not understand how I can have my entire future planned out perfectly. But I have always been a planner, well a planner for this sort of thing. Don’t ask me what I want to study when I get to college because I just don’t know.

I’ve had my wedding planned ever since I was 8-years-old. Some of the details have changed over the years but the overarching theme is still the same. Now that I’ve met my soulmate, I can see perfectly how our wedding day will look.

I want to get married outdoors, as it makes for the best lighting. I’ve wanted Annie Leibovitz to shoot the entire wedding for years. And no one else but Annie will be allowed to take pictures. I’ve seen too many botched wedding photos because guests get camera happy and ruin the moment by taking a selfie with the bride. Nope, that is not going to happen on my day.

Underneath a white gazebo, Jake and I will stand surrounded by beautiful pink rosettes. To the left of the gazebo will be a goldfish pond. Not one of those smelly ones with the murky water that makes it difficult to see to the bottom. But a beautiful crisp, clear pond, with tons of fishes bobbing their heads up and down in the water. It would also serve as a wishing well, so all my guests can throw a coin into the pond and wish Jake and I absolute and long lasting happiness.

All the invitations will have the addresses written out by hand— as proper etiquette requires. But I want the actual invitation to be done in Celtic font, which means I’ll have to hire someone who is an expert calligrapher. The one thing the invitations must say is No Boxed Gifts because I really hate the awful wedding gifts most people usually try to pawn off on the bride and groom. Who needs crystal candlestick holders anyway?

The cake will be three tiered, with white frosting and light pink rosettes. The inside will be chocolate with a strawberry filling. Rather than have the typical bride and groom on top, I want to have a cascade of roses falling down the cake like a waterfall.

I will have a dress code as well. I want everyone to wear white. Tradition usually says only the bride can wear white but white is such a beautiful, clean color. And even though there is a sea of white guests at my wedding, I will still look the best all trussed up in my wedding gown.

My Nana and I have talked about styles of dresses for years and we’ve never quite agreed on one dress. I can never give up the idea of having lace sleeves. But Nana thinks I should have a cathedral train that’s at least ten feet long. I want something simple and plain, but Nana always insists on something elegant, sophisticated, and expensive. I have to admit, I don’t much mind the expensive part.

My Nana’s always wanted to give me the best of everything, especially when it comes to my future wedding.

Dear, you only get married once in life, she always says, or in my case, three times, so you might as well enjoy it.

Nana has often suggested that when the time comes she will contact some of her friends in the fashion world so Vera Wang can design my dress. Vera Wang!

One thing is certain. Everything will be just perfect on my wedding day.

I stare up at the green letters that spell STARBUCKS. Whoa, that was a quick walk. This always happens. I often daydream the entire day away.

I pull the door open and see Jake seated at our table. When our eyes meet, I smile and wave but he just pulls his arms tighter around his chest. Strange.

I see that he hasn’t bought me my usual Venti Soy Vanilla Latte so I hold up one finger and point to the barista station. Jake nods his head curtly, then looks back down at his phone.

Once I place my order, I walk quickly to our table and seat myself directly across from him. Hi, I say all smiles and googly eyes. How are you?

I want out.

What? Those are not the three words I have been hoping to hear all summer.

Mazzy, this is just not working out for me.

"Um, what is not working out for you exactly. Explain."

I don’t want to be with you anymore, okay. It’s not--

"Oh wait wait wait. Let me guess. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Please tell me I am not that girl.

The one you are trying to break up with by using that lame line. Guess what Jake, 8th grade called, it wants your stupid excuse back."

Come on, Mazz. I don’t want to ruin what we had.

"What we had? You must be joking! Tell me, Jake. What did you and I ever have? Fill me in. I would just love to know, I’m dying to hear this. Really."

I’m speaking a little too loud, I know, but I can’t help it. When I am upset, my voice box instantly cranks up the volume and there is no mute button.

I’ve gone from daydreaming about my wedding day to having all my hopes and dreams come crashing all around me. I’m so furious I want to pick up his stupid Venti Caramel Frappuccino and dump it over his head.

Jake looks around nervously. It’s obvious he was expecting me to just sit there and cry as he broke it off. But I can easily switch off my Glinda the Good Witch personality for the Wicked Witch of the West. Oh, I would waste all the money I have to turn this guy into a flying monkey right now.

When Jake doesn’t answer, I keep going with my rant. "Look, Jake. I don’t need your

B.S. excuses okay. Just tell me to my face, what is going on?" The customers and baristas have all gone silent to listen to me but I don’t care.

Jake opens his mouth to answer but then his phone starts ringing. He grabs for it quickly, looking down at it and then back up at me. My eyes narrow as I recognize the tune. It’s Sir Mix A Lot’s Baby got Back.

I reach for his phone, instantly jealous. "Who is that? You never put a ring tone on any of

your contacts, not even for me."

I grab the phone out of his hand and answer it.

"Hi, it’s me!" some sugary voice answers on other end of the line.

"Hi, Me. Nice to meet you, I’m Jake’s girlfriend, who the freak is this?!?"

Jake reaches out his hand, Give me back my phone, Mazz.

"Oh, don’t you ‘Mazz’ me. I want some answers. Who is this?"

It’s a parent, says the girl on the phone. She’s dropped the sugary act, her

voice is thick with attitude and malice.

Whose parent? I ask, matching her attitude.

"It’s apparent you don’t know that you’re not Jake’s girlfriend anymore. I am now,

Hun. Well, ta-ta. Nice to meet you. I’m sure you’ll be seeing me soon...or not. Probably not. I’m Courtney, by the way. Have a nice life, I’ll see you on the 4th of Never."

Courtney ends the call.

"Um...Jake could you please tell me what exactly is going on here?"

Mazzy...I’m breaking up with you. I’m sorry. I wanted you to hear it from me first.

"Well, next time don’t have your new girlfriend call while you’re in the middle of breaking

up with your old one! I say, practically screaming at him. From the corner of my eye, I can see people whispering to each other and pointing over at us. I drop my voice a few notches. That might be one bright idea for future reference."

Look, I know I made a mistake...and I’m sorry, but I can tell he’s not really sorry at all.

He’s had this planned out for a while, I’m sure of it. Maybe that’s why he’s never said those three words back all summer. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.

Sorry doesn’t cut it, I say angrily. "I invested months of my life into you because I

thought we were going to live happily ever after and ride off into the sunset. And you just totally shattered all my dreams in a single conversation . . . in Starbucks, of all places. Actually, you didn’t even shatter my dreams. It was your new girlfriend who shattered them. So who is she? Courtney?"

Do I know a Courtney? I do. I close my eyes, grimacing. She’s a varsity cheerleader. Well, now Sir Mix-A-Lot’s song makes sense. That girl has a very nice . . . backside, if you’re into that sort of thing.

How long have you been dating? I ask, trying to rid the image of Courtney and Jake together.

Mazzy...it’s not really any of your business, Jake says becoming defensive.

"Well, um...you kind of made it my business when you signed on to be my boyfriend. You know how this deal goes, Jake. It doesn’t take freaking rocket science to be faithful."

Yeah well, rocket science is hard, Jake says with superiority.

What? I say confused, then shake it off. Jake’s never understood my sarcasm before. "Look, I was just trying to say it’s easy to be faithful. At least you could have told me you

were interested in someone else instead of leaving me hanging all summer! I mean did you even for once think I’d like to know that my boyfriend . . ."

Jake cuts me off. Ex-boyfriend.

The point is that you should have told me about her! Now how long has this been going on?

A couple weeks, Jake says. He probably knows I won’t let him go until I get some answers.

A couple weeks? I squeak out.

Yeah, Jake says tight lipped.

My mouth opens but no sound comes out. A couple weeks?

Well, anyway. See you around, Mazz. Jake quickly gets up out of