Lemongrass

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Two social misfits find love in each other.
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Two social misfits find love in each other.

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Authors Note

Another departure from my usual style. Though maybe the slow burn romance is becoming one of my usual styles now. Who knows? Anyway, it's your typical high school misfits discover each other type of story with a small twist. Similar to Speedy Delivery, one of the characters is slightly butch and the story is more of a romance and light on the sex. The minimal sex is partly because it's a slow build and partly because I needed to make sure the main characters were both eighteen before any hanky-panky ensued. In the end, it's really just a nice love story with a little first time sex.

I hope you like it.

Wax Philosophic

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The events and characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

*

Lemongrass

I want to tell you about my prom. It was amazing! I went with my best friend, Lemon. In fact, Lemon is here right now, helping me write this. I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed, with my laptop in front of me. Lemon is resting her head on my thigh, which makes it kind of hard to type. I don't mind though.

I guess I can't really start telling you about prom, until I tell you a little bit about myself and how I met Lemon. My name is Julia, and I'm special. Not special as in Mommy and Daddy's special little girl, though they do say that about me. I like it, because I know they say it with love. For most other people though, special is a label they've put on me. I have other labels too, like challenged, and high-functioning.

I've had these labels all my life. Mom told me once it was because my cord got wrapped around my neck when she was trying to push me out of her belly. So that's how I came by these labels. I think the hardest label for me is high-functioning. It's a real mixed blessing. The good part is that I can hold a job at my dad's store and not just sit in a corner and drool on myself. The bad part is that I know enough to realize I'm different.

I don't drool on myself, by the way. That was just an example. Lemon calls it a metaphor. She's smart like that, and she's going away to college in the fall. I'm going to miss her. She's reminding me right now that she promised to visit, but I'm still going to miss her when she goes. Lemon is going to journalism school. It's in Columbia, Missouri and that's a long way from here.

Thinking about Lemon leaving for college makes me think back to the day when we first met.

"Lemon, what were you wearing when we first met?"

"I don't know Julia, probably a skirt. I always wear skirts. Maybe even the one I have on now."

I was Lemon's senior project. I don't mean project, as in popular girl meets ugly duckling and decides to turn her into a swan. I didn't really need much help in that regard. I was pretty enough that plenty of boys wanted to talk to me. They just didn't talk to me for very long. No, Lemon's project was more academic in nature. She wanted to be a great journalist, so she was doing a year-long project on kids with labels. Kids like me.

So when I met Lemon, she was standing there in her skirt with a notebook and pencil, and an awkward smile. "Hi, Julia," she said, "I'm Lemon. I was hoping that I could ask you some questions for a project I'm working on, maybe get to know you a little better. Would that be OK?"

I thought it would be just fine. It's not like there were a lot of kids at school lining up to talk to me.

My parents were worried about Lemon's project at first, thinking that she was just taking advantage of me for her research. I didn't think so. Lemon was nice. I might have trouble stringing words together sometimes, but I could tell when someone was being genuine and honest. Lemon was both, and it was good to have someone to hang out with during my senior year, even if it was just for her research project.

After a while though, I got the feeling that Lemon kind of needed someone too. She's pretty enough, but she doesn't always see herself that way. She thinks her hair's a little too short, that she's a little too tall, a little too muscular, and a lot too awkward. She explained that once when I asked her why she didn't do sports. She's got the physique for it, but she claims she has two left feet. Physique was her word by the way. I told you she's smart.

And Lemon's got a really good heart. She proved that one day in the hallway between classes. Some boys were making fun of me while I was on my way to my reading class. I saw Lemon heading toward me. I wanted to crawl in a locker and hide. I didn't want her to see me like this, to see how the other kids treated me. But she just kept coming and before I knew it, she had the biggest boy smashed under her forearm, pinned up against the lockers.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Lemon growled. I've never seen that look on her face before, and I'm glad it wasn't directed at me. I saw a few teachers starting to make their way over, but once they saw that Lemon had things under control, they all sort of looked the other way. I think the boy might have peed in his pants a little bit too, because he ran away awfully fast when Lemon finally let him go.

That was the first time in my life anyone ever stood up for me. Well, besides teachers and my parents. I will never, ever forget that day.

"Aw Julia, that's sweet."

Lemon is reading this as I type, so please excuse her running commentary. I'd kick her out, but I really do like the feeling of her head resting on my thigh, even if it does make it harder for me to type.

So after Lemon pinned that boy to the locker, those kids never bothered me again. Though I could hear them whispering sometimes about us. "Look, it's the geek and the dimwit," they would say, but never loud enough to provoke another locker bashing from Lemon. Sometimes I wished she would, but Lemon said they would get their comeuppance eventually. Another one of her words, comeuppance.

After that, Lemon and I began hanging out together more. It started because we had the same lunch period and it was a convenient time for her to interview me. But it soon grew from there. We talked about all sorts of things, like I found out that her real name is Lemongrass, because her parents are total hippies.

"Julia! You had better delete that!"

"I like your full name, Lemon. It's cute. Besides, your parents made lentils last time I came over for dinner, so you can't deny that they're hippies." I started stroking her hair and she soon forgot about what I wrote and nestled her head back on my thigh. I like Lemon's hair. It's very soft and silky.

So, as I was saying, Lemon and I spent our lunchtimes together discussing our hopes and dreams. "I'll probably end up working at my dad's store," I admitted. Not much of a dream, but it was something.

"I want to be a great investigative journalist," Lemon said, "maybe for The Washington Post if I'm really lucky and I get good grades."

"Is that why you're doing this project about kids like me?"

"Partly," she said, "but I like hanging out with you too." I could tell she wasn't just trying to make me feel good, that she really meant it. I told you I could read people like that.

Lemon pulled a copy of The Washington Post out of her bag and showed it to me. "This is good stuff, Julia. This is what I want to do." She seemed very excited about it as I leafed through the pages. I thought it was so-so until I got to the In Sight section.

"This is amazing!" I said, looking through the photographs. "It's like a whole story in one picture!"

"You like it? After school why don't you come down to the journalism lab with me and you can look at some of the photos my classmates have taken."

"Sounds great! Can I take this with me?"

"Sure."

So I spent the rest of my day watching the clock and sneaking peeks at The Post between classes. Finally, I heard the last bell and practically ran to the journalism lab. OK, more like a quick walk, because running is against the rules.

There was Lemon, looking pretty in her skirt, talking to Mr. Reed. "Hey, Julia!" she called, and waved me over. "This is Mr. Reed. He's the journalism instructor."

"Hi Mr. Reed." We had met a few times before, so I knew him on sight, but I never had a reason to set foot in his classroom until now.

"Lemon tells me you're interested in photojournalism."

"I don't know about that," I responded, "I just like the pictures in The Post." I pulled out the In Sight section to show him my favorites.

"That's what photojournalism is all about, Julia. A photographer's job is to capture that one decisive moment in a single frame. Here, give it a try." Mr. Reed handed me a camera, explained that it was a digital SLR, and gave me a quick rundown on how to use it. "What you see through here is exactly what you'll see in the picture once you press the button."

I turned the camera toward Lemon. She tried to hide, but I was quick and managed to get her with a big, goofy grin just as her hand was coming up to cover her face.

"I think you've definitely caught the decisive moment, Julia," Mr. Reed chuckled as we all looked at the camera's display together. "Let me get the serial number off of this one, so I can check it out to you. Take it home and fire away. Just leave it on the green 'A' and let the camera make the decisions for now. If you like it, I can teach you about the other settings later. And take as many pictures as you can, that's the quickest way to improve." I snapped a few more of Lemon before leaving for home, but none of them looked as good as that first one.

"You've still got that one on your wall, don't you?" Lemon was commenting. "I wish you'd take it down, I look so dorky."

"You look beautiful," I said and stroked her hair until her head was resting comfortably on my thigh again.

I took Mr. Reed's advice and snapped pictures of everything, and I do mean everything. I must have fifty pictures of just my cat, and from every possible angle. It was an awful lot of fun and after a while I got pretty good at it. Mr. Reed even talked to my academic adviser to get me enrolled in his journalism class mid-semester. Besides lunchtime with Lemon, it was my favorite part of the school day.

Soon I had moved from the fully automatic setting into the semi-auto priority modes, and then finally full manual. Though I find that manual only works well when I have time to set up the shot, like with the portraits I do for the school newspaper.

Most articles about people include a head-shot. Well, I was practicing, so I approached my head-shots more like a fashion shoot. That's how Lemon described it anyway. I didn't really think about it, I just did what felt right. I tried different angles, different lighting and lots of different poses. Lemon always took me along for head-shots, she said mine were the best. Pretty soon other reporters were requesting me as well, so I don't think she was just flattering me.

We were just wrapping up a shoot in the school office when I leaned in to show Lemon the camera display.

"I never thought I'd say this about the vice principle, Julia, but you made her look gorgeous."

"Thanks!" I said. And then it happened. Lemon kissed me. It was just a little peck on the cheek, and I think it was totally innocent for her, but for me it was absolutely amazing. I felt myself blushing and I didn't know what to do, so I hid behind the camera and snapped a picture of Lemon. It was completely crooked, and the only thing in focus was her left eye, but it's so totally her that I saved it and printed an eight by ten.

"You never told me you kept that one!" she complained. A little more stroking of her hair and I had her calmed down again.

"Relax," I said, "I keep it in my closet so that I can see your face every morning."

I heard a contented little sigh and felt Lemon's head settle back onto my thigh.

So now Lemon and I were hanging out even more -- lunchtime, journalism class, and photo shoots. She even came to my house for my birthday. It was nice. At lunch, she had pulled a cupcake out of her bag. "Happy birthday!" she exclaimed. "You're now old enough to vote, just like me. Sorry, it's a little smooshed. I think my lockermate put her books on it this morning, though she denies it."

"Thank you, Lemon," I said and squeezed her hand under the lunch table. I didn't really mean to do it, it just happened, but she didn't pull away, so that was nice.

"It was very nice, Julia. I didn't know you felt that way about me until that day."

"The decisive moment," I commented and began stroking her hair again.

After our lunchtime encounter, I got bold and asked Lemon if she wanted to come to my house for birthday cake. I texted my parents and they said it was no problem to set out one more plate. So Lemon came by to meet my folks. They absolutely loved her and I was a little upset that they seemed to be monopolizing her time. Guess who came up with that word, monopolizing.

"She seems like a really nice girl, Julia," my dad said as Lemon was pulling out of the driveway.

"She is, Dad." I left it at that. I had no idea how to express my feelings for Lemon. Mom and Dad were always telling me to be careful of boys who might want to take advantage of me because I was pretty. They never mentioned anything about girls. Though I didn't think Lemon was trying to take advantage of me. I wondered if Dad even knew the feelings I had for Lemon.

"I think he knows now, Julia."

"Yes he does, but he likes you, so it's OK," I said as I bent to kiss her cheek. A little more hair stroking and Lemon fell silent again.

Lemon and I went to each other's houses a few more times after my birthday. Mostly it was to work on journalism projects together, but a couple of times it was just to hang out and watch Netflix. It turns out we both like some of the same shows. I really enjoyed Lemon's company. After a while I got bold and held her hand while we sat in front of the TV. Just like lunchtime, she never pulled away.

"So, Lemon," I said as another episode of Gilmore Girls wound down, "I've got a photo assignment from Mr. Reed to cover the prom for the yearbook. Do you think you'd want to go with me? You know, as friends? Unless you're already going with a boy."

"Julia, have you ever seen me with a boy?"

"No," I said. She was right. I guess I just never noticed that much about her outside of the time we spent together. I just assumed she was boy-crazy like nearly every other teenage girl at school.

"I'd love to go to prom with you, Julia," she said and kissed me. It wasn't a peck on the cheek like last time. This one was right on the lips. It was absolutely wonderful. Maybe that's why I decided to kiss her back. The second time was really nice too. And the third. Lemon had me wrapped in her arms and squeezed me tightly to her chest. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather go with," she said.

The next day, my mom took me dress shopping. I don't know how she figured it out, I thought Lemon and I had been discrete. Moms just know that stuff I guess. "Nothing too fancy, Mom," I complained, "I still have to be able to take pictures." Two hours later, I walked out with a simple dress that I thought looked nice and would still allow me to lug my camera gear.

"Nice? You looked totally hot in it."

"Lemon!"

"It's true, you did. And stroking my hair again is not going to get me to shut up about it. I know what you've been doing, Julia."

She might be on to me, but it didn't stop me from running my fingers through her soft, silky locks anyway. "I like your hair, Lemon."

"So you've shown me, Julia."

Lemon knew exactly what I was doing now, but the trick still worked. Soon her head was resting on my thigh again. I really liked it there.

Mom and Dad completely surprised me that night at dinnertime. "Honey, we got you a room for after prom. It's in the hotel attached to the ballroom. It's a double, so you and Lemon can stay there together if it's OK with her folks. Prom can go late and we don't want you two driving home tired and being on the road with people who have been drinking."

"Thanks, guys, that's really nice."

"Just try not to rack up too much on room service. OK, honey?" my dad teased.

So the big day was finally here. Lemon was looking very attractive as she stood at my front door to pick me up. She was wearing a skirt of course, but she had a jacket to go with it. She wore a big smile too.

"Come on in," I said, "Mom and Dad want to get a picture of us first, if that's OK."

"Sure," she said as I led her inside.

"OK Dad, just press the button." I had the camera all set up on a tripod and the display screen was rotated so that I could see it. Not that I didn't trust my parents to take a good picture ... OK, I didn't.

"Got everything you need, honey? Camera? Batteries? Film?"

"Mom, there's no film anymore. I'm fine. Bye!" And with that I hopped into Lemon's car as she held the door open for me.

We decided against dinner at the hotel. It was part of the prom package, but we were both going on a press pass, so dinner was not included for us. "I didn't know anybody else liked Thai," I said as I tried to be graceful about getting my noodles to my mouth. "Usually Mom and I will go when my dad's out of town."

"Pad Thai is one of my favorites, Julia."

I reached across the table and stroked Lemon's arm. She smiled back at me and set her chopsticks down long enough to take my hand in hers. "I feel kind of guilty, stealing you away for dinner. Shouldn't you be snapping pictures of people?"

"Nobody wants to have their picture taken when they're eating," I assured her, "I think we're OK."

"This is nice," she said giving my hand a quick squeeze before picking up her chopsticks again.

After dinner, a lot of the night was a blur. I was busy taking pictures of anybody and everybody, and Lemon was off getting quotes for the yearbook. Though we did get to dance together a few times. I particularly enjoyed the slow songs, because I got to rest my head on Lemon's shoulder as we held each other. It was wonderful and she smells really good.

"It was wonderful, Julia. I wish I had a picture of it. We could replace that one you keep in your closet."

"It's hard for me to take a selfie while we're dancing. You'd probably still look dorky though. Ow! Did you just pinch me?"

"You said I looked dorky!" she teased.

"You are dorky, but you're my dork," I answered as I began stroking her hair again.

"Aren't you going to write about what we did after the prom?" Lemon sighed.

"I thought maybe we could just recreate it instead." That night after prom was the first time for both of us, and we were tired, because we had actually been working instead of partying like the rest of our classmates. I was anxious to see how things would go the second time.

"Your parents are downstairs, Julia."

"I don't think they care. They like you, Lemon, and it's not like they have to worry that you're going to get me knocked up."

"That's fine, baby, just as long as you let people know that I was chivalrous on prom night."

"OK, fine." For the record, Lemon was perfectly content to sleep in separate beds that night after prom. I was the one who crawled in with her. "But I didn't hear you complaining about it when I did."

"No, I didn't complain, Julia. Just like I'm not complaining now."

I reached over and stroked Lemon's hair some more.

"You know, Julia, you've got me in your bed again. So maybe you could stop trying to lull me to sleep and just kiss me already."

I set the laptop aside and did just that. I leaned down and took Lemon's face between my hands and brought her lips to mine. The rest of this story might be kind of sketchy, because it's all from memory. As I said, I put the laptop aside so that we could concentrate on other things. Things like the feeling of Lemon's lips pressed against mine. That was the first thing I noticed.

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