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.
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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.
