Marquez / Márquez Sweetest Taboo

A Novel
1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-4781-3681-1
Verlag: Terra-Mia Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 175 Seiten

Isabel Cruz was fifteen years old when she met Tom Stevens. She was 15 when they started dating, and 16 when she lost her virginity to him. By the time she turned 18 and went to college, everything had fallen apart. This hadn't been an ordinary love, though. Not a love between two dear friends, or even high school sweethearts. This had been the most taboo sort of love there was: a relationship between a student and her teacher. Isabel started her high school career as a normal student, but set her sights on Tom Stevens as soon as she met him, and pursued him with an intense - and sometimes reckless - fascination. When he finally approached her after swim practice and told her that he shared her feelings, it was the start of a forbidden and dangerous relationship. Join Isabel as she makes her way through this dark love story, hiding from teachers, lying to her parents, and defying the authorities to make a life with the man she loves. Watch as she discovers the wonders of love and romance, and the terrible betrayal of jealous friends. And cry with her when she learns the hard truth about life and the people in her world. Sweetest Taboo is inspired by the true and tragic stories of students who fall in love with their teachers, and live with the hard truths of forbidden romances. In a world full of after-school specials on sexual predators, this touching book seeks a different path, casting both student and teacher in a gentle light, and showing that true love may lie at the base of even the most illicit romance. Sweetest Taboo is Book One of a contemporary YA romance series. Book Two, Tainted Love, is scheduled to be released in the spring of 2013.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Marquez, Eva

Márquez, Eva

Leseproben

Chapter Three
Is it a Crime?
Within a couple of months, I had settled into my role on the swim team and started making more friends outside of my normal circle. Liz, a girl in my English and History classes, became one of my closest confidantes, and I started to think of her as the sister I’d never had. She was not on the swim team; in fact, Liz was not involved in any sports at all. She was a tall, boisterous, and slightly chubby Mexican-American, and shied away from any sporting activities. She still stopped by swim practice every day, though, to boost our spirits and crack one or two jokes with us before she headed home. On slow days, she sat on the concrete benches and waited for practice to end. Her house was warmer and friendlier than mine, since she had no siblings that could bother us, and I enjoyed going there after school to do homework or watch TV and eat with her family. I only got to do so on the days when she waited for me. It always warmed my heart to see her sitting on the benches, reading a book and waiting for me to finish with practice. Mr. Stevens enjoyed her presence as well, and would sometimes sit with her during practice. She was a happy, funny girl, and he enjoyed her sarcastic jokes and unbelievable stories. By the end of the first month of swim season, they’d become friends, and she was making the most of it. She included me in their conversations whenever she could, though that would quickly lead to her being cut out of the conversation. I was always anxious for a reason to talk to Mr. Stevens, and he seemed equally happy to sit with Liz or me. Liz was the only friend who didn’t judge me or criticize my crush on Mr. Stevens, a much older man who had a gold wedding band on his finger. She would get Mr. Stevens and I talking, then give me a knowing look and walk quietly away, to wait for me near the entrance of the girls’ locker room. My crush on Mr. Stevens began to rule my teenage world, and keeping track of all our seemingly trivial interactions became an obsession. To be fair, Mr. Stevens hadn’t done anything inappropriate at that point, and treated me with the same respect he exhibited to all other swimmers. I believed that he stood closer to me and looked at me with a different look in his eyes, but that might have been my imagination. In my more rational moments, I was forced to admit that my relationship with Mr. Stevens only existed in my head. Nothing had actually happened. That didn’t stop me from feeling a rush of nervous energy every time he came near. And that nervous energy was enough to fuel my crush. Eventually I became braver. My jokes took a more inquisitive and probing slant, and he began to linger with his touch when he handed me something or returned my towel. He started holding my jewelry for me during practice. After practice was over, he would take my necklace from his pocket, place it around my neck, and fasten it for me. It was difficult to gauge whether these were all elements of a kind man doing what he would do for anyone, or whether he was paying special attention, playing the same game I was. Whatever the case, these moments were the highlights of my days. *** One afternoon, Liz and I went to my house after school, to study and gossip. We went straight to my bedroom, which was warm with the early March heat wave, and I cracked the window open. A slight breeze blew through the window to stir the air in the room. I glanced across the room to make sure that the door was closed, and noticed that the breeze was rustling the Bill Clinton poster I kept above my desk. I ran to the desk to secure the poster. “Close the window, Liz!” I shouted. “Billy’s falling down!” Liz jumped up and slid the window shut. She looked at me as I pressed on the tape at the corners of the poster, and then laughed. “You and your Billy, Izzy,” she said. “You’re too funny. Isn’t it enough that you have that damn black and white portrait of him on your school binder? Do you need to have him everywhere? You don’t have anything else on your wall!” I chuckled as I sat on the swivel chair. “You know I love Billy,” I told her. “You can take anything away from me, but not my Billy.” All my friends laughed at my obsession with our nation’s president, but they had their Luke Perry and Jason Priestley, and I had my Billy. I loved politics, I loved the fact that President Bush had not been re-elected, and I loved that this relatively young Democrat – a witty and smart silver-haired fox from Arkansas – had won the presidency. My black and white poster of Billy was all I wanted to decorate my bedroom; it was all the inspiration I needed. Liz and I sat down to talk and before long our conversation turned to her new – and significantly older – boyfriend. I was dying of jealousy, and wanted to know every detail about their relationship. Liz was open enough with me that she didn’t mind sharing, and we were in the middle of a very telling story when the door to my bedroom flew open. We both jumped guiltily, and turned to find my dad standing in the doorway, wearing one of his signature low-browed looks. Anyone unfamiliar with my father would have thought that he was angry, and on the verge of a lecture, but Liz was accustomed to my dad’s brutish nature. She’d seen his various moods before, and understood as well as I that he wasn’t actually distressed or upset. She looked up at him, giving him her most innocent smile. “Hi, Dad,” I said quietly. “What is it?” Someone was here to see me, he informed me in Spanish, already disappearing down the hallway. He was gone before I could ask who it was. I exchanged perplexed looks with Liz, and we hopped to our feet. Mr. Stevens was standing at the front door when I got there. “Hi,” he said. I stared at him, unable to hide my surprise. “Uh, hi,” was all I managed. What was he doing here? How did he know where I lived? I felt a familiar throbbing in my chest; my heart was pounding as I moved forward. “Can I come in?” Mr. Stevens asked, looking straight at me. I suddenly felt under-dressed, wearing my sweats and an old navy-blue tank top. My hair was dry, but I had allowed it to air-dry after practice and it didn’t have any style of its own. I put my hand to my head self-consciously, thinking that it must look a mess. “Uh, sure, of course,” I replied, taking a step back to let him in. Mr. Stevens stepped into the living room, taking in the big screen TV, the set of olive green Italian leather couches, the issues of Architectural Digest stacked neatly on the oak coffee table. From the expression on his face, I could tell that he was surprised to see such expensive furniture and fittings inside a house in my immigrant neighborhood. Our terrier had darted from her cushion on the floor to greet the stranger, and he bent down to pat her. She pulled one of her favorite tricks and turned on her back to show him her belly. “What an adorable little thing you are,” he said, rubbing her smooth belly affectionately. “She’s a terrier mix,” I said, just to fill the void. “She was my fifteenth birthday present.” Mr. Stevens straightened and looked at me again, while Brownie continued to sniff his Birkenstocks. He nodded, but didn’t answer. I paused then plunged forward. “Uh, can I help you with something, Mr. Stevens?” I asked nervously. I had gone through the entire day in my head, but couldn’t find any reason for this surprise visit. He nodded suddenly, as if he’d just remembered. “Of course, how rude of me. You forgot your necklace and your watch at practice.” He reached into his pocket to pull them out. “I brought them for you. I didn’t want you to be worried.” He held his hand out, the silver necklace and pendant dangling from his fingers, and I realized that this was the first time that I had forgotten about my jewelry. I stared at the necklace and blinked a couple of times, feeling bad that I hadn’t even missed them until now, when Mr. Stevens was standing in my living room holding them in his hand. “I completely forgot about them,” I confessed. “Thanks so much for going out of your way to drop them off.” “It’s no trouble,” he replied. “I gave a few swimmers a ride home and one of them told me that you lived right down the road so I thought, why not? It’s on my way. I didn’t want you to panic thinking you had lost them.” As he spoke, he gently pressed the jewelry into my hand, lightly caressing my wrist as he released them. We locked eyes for a moment and I felt the instant heat of an all-too-familiar blush appear on my face. He must have noticed it too, because he looked away and added, “At least now you can rest well knowing that your grandmother’s necklace is safely back with you.” I frowned in confusion then remembered that I had told him that it was my grandmother’s necklace the first time I asked him to hold it for me. “Yes, I’m glad to have it back,” I answered quickly. “It’s really sweet of you to drop these off. I really appreciate it.” We walked to the door, and Mr. Stevens stepped out to the porch. He looked back at me before he walked away, paused, and then winked and said goodnight. I walked back inside, still stunned, my grandmother’s necklace clutched in my hand, and closed the door behind me. I was...