Crushing It: The Girls of Bloomington North Book Two

By Denise Gwen

Summer’s over and it's back to Bloomington North High School for a new generation of girls. It's just another year of torture for Mona as she struggles to fit in with the crowd. Not to mention the two boys she swoons over, Keith Nelson and Esau Stein. Never mind the fact that neither boy even knows of her existence, but a school play might just change that if she auditions . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denise Gwen
• Release date: Jul 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005438296

Denise Gwen

Denise Gwen writes!!!

Book preview

ONE

Mama, no, Mindy Chapman said, stamping her foot. "I am not wearing hose."

Melinda Marie Chapman, her mother said. Don’t you dare stamp your foot at me. I won’t have it.

Mama, things are different up here. You’ve noticed it, too, don’t pretend you haven’t.

It’s one thing for a girl in the summertime—

"Mama, it’s August, and it’s still hot outside. I am not wearing hose to my first day of school."

Mama stood there, looking suddenly uncertain. Mindy, sensing her victory, said sweetly, Mama, you’ve noticed it yourself. All the girls in this town walk around bare-legged, and you promised me you’d do everything in your power to make this move up north as easy on me as possible.

I did, honey, but I can’t bear the idea of you not dressing like a lady.

"I am dressed like a lady, Mindy said, indicating her flouncy dress. I can’t make myself look any more ladylike than this."

Mama studied Mindy’s pert ponytail—that’d been another fight, Mama had wanted Mindy’s soft curls framing her face, what are you doing, pulling your hair back?—then her gaze took in the empire waist dress she’d ordered for Mindy from their favorite vintage shop on Etsy, and then her gaze traveled down to the black patent leather Mary Janes that Mindy had stolen from her closet—sweet!—and sighed.

Honey, that’s my favorite pair of Mary Janes. You know I got them at Van Mahr.

I love them, Mama.

I know you do. I’m just gonna have to buy myself a second pair.

Mindy brightened. I can keep these?

Daddy wandered into the kitchen.

Mistake!

You ready for your first day of school, young lady?

Henry, Mama said, stepping in front of him. Please give us your opinion, dear.

Daddy looked, first from Mama’s flushed face, to Mindy’s, then back to Mama’s, reached into his front pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. My, oh my, will you look at the time? Mindy, dear, grab your satchel, it’s time to go.

Henry—

Oh, now, Harriet. You know I can’t be late to my first day of work at Cook. Daddy winked at Mindy, reached forward to peck Mama on the cheek. Can’t wait till I see you tonight.

Mindy grabbed her satchel and scampered out the door.

---

Gustave Moeller sat in his usual place, directly behind the bus driver, but he was still the last student to climb down the steps after it parked at the circle drive to release the students to their first day of classes at Bloomington North. He did this on purpose. He liked to make it look as if he were so distracted by the Sudoku game on his E-reader, he didn’t notice what was going on around him. He ’d managed to avoid talking to anyone during the forty-five-minute ride to school. Nobody hassled him, even as they shuffled off the bus, casting curious glances at him. They knew better than to harass him in front of Stanley Hawkins, the bus driver.

Nobody messed around with Gustave when Stanley was around.

Stanley concealed his warm heart under an air of quiet menace. He did not hesitate to throw students off his bus, and he did not tolerate any form of bullying. Gustave relished these last few moments of freedom from humiliation and taunts as he lingered. When the last student stepped off the bus, Gustave and Stanley were alone.

Gustave glanced up, then back down.

Started a new game.

Stanley cleared his throat, a deep, gravelly grumble. Better get goin’ there, son.

Yeah, I guess so.

Gustave slid the videogame into his backpack, slung it onto his back, and stood up.

Hey, there, uh, Gus?

Gustave stopped and looked at him.

Stanley had been Gustave’s bus driver from his first days in Kindergarten, back at University Elementary School. Eleven years. And Stanley had always appeared like a giant to him. But now, as Gustave gazed down at him, he noticed the tightening around the eyes, the crows’ feet in the corners, the droopy eyelids.

Stanley looked suddenly uncomfortable. See here, son. You hold your head up high, you hear?

Oh, well, sure.

There’s some expression, Stanley said, it’s Latin, but I only know how to say it in English.

Yes? What is it?

Stanley gazed at him, his gray eyes rock-hard. Don’t let the bastards get you down, Gus.

Gustave smiled. In Latin, it was Nolite Te Bastardes Carborundorum, but he didn’t feel the need to show off. This man had been looking after his welfare for all these many years.

Thanks, Stan.

All right, he said gruffly. And off you go.

Gustave stumbled down the steps and into the bright sunshine.

Stanley slammed the doors shut behind him, gunned the engine and left. Gustave turned and watched as the bus rumbled away.

I’m on my own to combat the assholes and the great unwashed masses.

He dearly wished he could go back home with Stanley. But he had an education to pursue.

He hoisted the backpack straps up high, ducked his head down and strode toward the building without sparing a glance in either direction.

Still, he stuck out.

Hey, Gustave, a laconic voice drawled, What’s your favorite rap music? Mozart? Beethoven?

Snickers from the crowd.

Ha, ha. You idiots are so funny.

Hey, Gustave, where’d you get that great outfit? Thrift? Do they have a special designer line called awkward geeks?

More snickers.

Bill Gates used to be a geek, you morons. One of these days, you idiots will be begging me for a job, and I’ll be your boss.

Hey, Gustave—

He kept his face impassive and soldiered on.

Hey, Gustave, a pretty girl called out. I like your sandals. Where can I get butt-ugly sandals like that?

Birkenstock, Gustave shot over his shoulder.

I hear Birkenstock is the sandal of choice for lesbians like you.

More laughter rang in his ears.

He reached the front door, yanked it open, and disappeared inside.

---

Mindy rippled with shame and burrowed down low in the front passenger seat of Daddy’s cavernous Buick. She watched with a sinking heart as he crawled up the congested driveway to the sweeping entrance of her new high school, Bloomington North.

As each school bus rattled to a stop at the front entrance, streams of students poured out. And even more students emerged from the parking lot. There were piles upon piles of students getting out of their cars, calling out to one another. They strolled up the sidewalk and peered in the passenger-side window where Mindy cowered. These two enormous groups of students converged together at the front entrance, a massive, teeming body of humanity as vast and as powerful as the mighty Mississippi.

Oh, my heavens. There are more students milling around here than the entire student body of my old high school.

She wished her father’s plush-leather seating would swallow her whole and spit her out into the center of the earth. Added to her horrible feelings of terror, she realized something even worse.

Oh, my God. I’m dressed so wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.

Too late to run home and change.

She wished she could die.

She gazed down at the sweet pink country-gingham dress with an empire waistline and sighed with resignation. This dress had been just fine for Columbus, Georgia, but was not at all fine for here.

I look like a country hick.

She’d be the laughingstock of the entire school. She could see it now, her life in ruins.

Daddy chuckled. Looking forward to your first day of school, honey?

She forced a smile. How could she possibly explain it to him? Oh, yes, Daddy. I’m looking forward to it.

I am ready to die.

She gazed, half-rapturously, half-enviously, out her window at the cool, impossibly chic girls as they eased languidly past her. They looked so fresh, so easy, so perfect. They all wore long, flirty, Indian-style skirts, with tank tops or spaghetti-strap camisoles, and brand-new Old Navy flip flops, with silver filigree bracelets decorating their ankles.

Then she noticed a different set of girls, all decked out in khaki capris, with statement-making Tommy Hilfiger or Ralph Lauren shirts. Okay, so this was approved-look number two for the high-school set. The khaki capri-wearing girls sauntered along in low-heeled kitten-style mules. Not a single flip-flop.

Note to self. Indian-style skirt with flip-flops. Khaki capris with mules.

Each girl who sported one of the two approved looks, also boasted an amazing pedicure. She saw a whole rainbow of colors; pinks and reds and oranges, and even one set of pedicured toes in black. Jangly bracelets dangled from the girls’ arms and ankles, and their hair hung down their backs like elegant curtains. Highlights ranged from caramel-laced strands to thick, chunky sections of blonde, and everyone’s hair was flat, flat, flat. Not a single curl in sight.

Not even an intentionally ironic one.

I am screwed.

Mindy had failed to receive her copy of the secret handbook—the one telling them how to dress for school.

Okay, that’s it.

She yanked the gingham ribbon out of her hair and shook it loose, so it fell in soft curls around her shoulders. She grabbed a hairbrush from her handbag and spit-tamed the locks.

She’d still look awful, but at least she wouldn’t look like a complete idiot.

Just a partial one.

Why’d you pull out your ponytail? Daddy asked. I love it when you pull your hair back.

Oh, Daddy, I just changed my mind.

They reached the circle drive. A throng of students hung around on the wide sidewalk.

They look as if they just stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad.

And then a far more unpleasant idea darted into her head.

All these kids know each other.

These kids hadn’t spent their entire lives in Columbus, Georgia, only to be rudely pulled away from everything they’d ever known, dragged halfway across the country—to the freaking Midwest of all places—just so their father could go to work at his new job at Cook.

It was so unfair, it really was. Back home, her outfit would’ve been just fine. Most, if not all the girls in Columbus made their own clothes, or if they couldn’t sew, their mothers made their clothes for them.

Everybody owned a sewing machine.

And the girls in Columbus dressed Southern. They dressed like ladies. Their clothing was more tailored, more refined. Mindy couldn’t quite wrap her head around the total disconnect between her old life and this new, appalling one.

Dizzy with all her new problems, her mind drifted back to shoes. There was probably some nice lady teacher in this very school, who was wearing a perfectly nice pair of Mary Janes—a pair just like the pair on Mindy’s feet—that she too bought at Van Mahr.

I’m as fashionably dressed as a teacher. Yay, rah. Go me. Thank God I didn’t wear hose. That would’ve been the absolute end of my life.

Daddy inched the Buick forward another couple of inches. You got your lunch money? Mama said she’d make your lunch for you from now on, but she was kind of in a hurry to get to work this morning.

Oh, yes, Daddy, that’s fine.

Geezil Petes, Daddy. How can you obsess over food when there’s a fashion crisis at stake?

She gazed down at her black patent leather Mary Janes and sighed. There was really nothing at all that she could do about these shoes. It was so sad, really. They simply weren’t the thing. She wondered if she could persuade the kids to think she was being ironic?

Yeah, right. More likely, they’d think she was wearing a freaking costume.

Okay, Daddy said, here we are.

Mindy gazed mournfully out the window.

Oh look, here comes the freak from southern Georgia I was telling you about. Did you know she almost put on hose this morning? Can you believe it? I don’t even own hose.

Knock’em dead, sweetheart.

Okay, Daddy.

She pulled on the heavy, upholstered door handle, it swung open and she stepped gingerly out onto the sidewalk. The group of students hovering at the circle drive stared at her for a few moments, then resumed their conversations. That wasn’t so bad, but she did detect just a hint of snickering.

Her cheeks flushing scarlet, she tilted up her chin and waltzed imperiously past the throng of students. She’d absorbed enough of her southern upbringing to know one thing—a lady never lets on when she’s down.

Her head held high, she marched in through the front door, praying she’d make it through this day in one piece.

And tonight . . . Mama’s taking me shopping.

---

As Gustave slipped into the building, he cast a wary glance at the crowd filling the school’s front hallway. Did anybody look as if they were getting ready to insult him, tear into him? No? Good.

Keep your head down.

Oh, how he longed to return to Israel, to the kibbutz he lived in all summer. The Jews he met in Israel dealt with significant world issues. They did not concern themselves with anything these gentiles, these redneck hillbillies could even begin to understand. The Jews of Israel dealt with survival, their lives, their faith. Their day didn’t revolve around the latest fashion or getting a matching manicure-and-pedicure treatment at the Tranquility Spa.

God, these people are all such idiots.

Then he noticed the cafeteria. Some of the students who’d arrived early sat at the lunchroom tables in various groups and sub-groups, just sitting there, talking to one another, eating.

They’re eating.

The school had started a breakfast program, he recalled the email sent out before school started. He saw kids finishing off cinnamon rolls, moist with icing, and his mouth watered.

Hey, Gustave.

Gustave whirled around and his gaze alighted on Esau Stein. He sat at a table as he polished off a cinnamon roll, his second, judging from the scraped-clean plate set to one side.

A hard part inside him