This is the first submission of a multi-chapter lesbian story regarding a high school senior and her travels through life. It is not full of sex, in fact, these first two chapters have none, so if that is what you are looking for, move to chapter three, which will be submitted the day after this section posts.
Prologue
I sat in a lawn chair on my front porch on a miserably sticky-hot Texas afternoon that left most people sweating and searching for a breeze, any breeze, just a whisper of wind to cool the fire burning down from the skies. The wretched, barren grass looked as if locusts swarmed from the heavens to steal its life. Decorated with beer cans, scattered cigarette butts and a rusty barbecue pit used but once on my tenth birthday, the front yard was a sickly desperate home to various vermin and pests. Two gnarled Mesquite trees grew in a mangled conglomeration of green and brown with a tire swing hanging from the closest one. A soon to die rosebush fought to release a single bloom. I stood, walked over to the bush and picked the bloom, putting the bush out of its misery. This is my home and my screwed up life.
I'm a pretty girl—not beautiful mind you, just pretty. My given name is Millicent, but everyone calls me Millie. I had the misfortune of being raised on the wrong side of the tracks—Southside, with the Mexicans, Vietnamese, Iranians and assorted white trash. We are the latter, the trash, generally considered better off than the Mexicans.
For some reason, I didn't miss the breeze today. I wanted the heat, the sun, the sweat, mostly the pain and the way it helped me forget about my father and his constant touching, grabbing and fondling. Daddy was a piece of shit.
I suppose I should let you in on a secret about me. It's true, though almost nobody knows it, or at least will admit to it. I'm damn smart for white trash. Most Southside trash are pretty stupid, in fact, I'd venture to say that many are just downright idiots with an IQ just south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
Certainly, I don't know where my IQ came from. Becka, my three year old little sister is a smart one also, but terribly shy around people and crying all the time. My mom is a drug addict and dad, well, I already told you about him. He's nothing but a pervert after his little girl's pussy. I've pretty much always hated him. Seems like I remember him doing some awfully bad things to me when I was little, I just can't put my finger on exactly what they were.
Chapter 1
The clothes gave her away as Southside Mexican. Jeans, thread-bare, tight and short, indicated several prior owners. Shoes, meticulously cleaned of every speck of dirt, were shabby and of a dubious name brand. A T-shirt with an undemanding flower pattern squeezed her generous breasts and thick muscular torso. Luscious hips that enhanced her femininity seemingly oozed passion, albeit unknowingly to her. She must have the most gorgeous body on the planet.
Thick, shiny and lustrous, her hair flowed in expansive locks to her mid-back framing and hiding the mystery of her face. Light seemingly bounced from her tresses, producing a luminescence similar to a beacon in the night. Her eyes averted all onlookers, looking to the ground and covered by curls. Naturally, since she hid behind her hair everyone wanted to see her face.
Her hair . . . I couldn't breathe. I'd never been so moved by a female in my life.
Some of the kids started whistling and one shouted,
"Puta."
That lit a small ember in my heart, and my blood began to simmer.
Unconsciously sitting up in my desk, I focused on the secrecy of her eyes. I found myself drawn to her with insatiable curiosity as that lovely young woman's eyes carefully hid behind dark silky hair. She raised the ire of the others with her demure demeanor, drawing their snickers, catcalls and sly snide remarks. I'd just about had enough of their bullshit when Ms. Jensen, the matronly teacher of around forty with a pronounced limp, made it worse with her insidious comment.
"Class, this is Rose, she's joining us from Fundamental Math."
The students laughed.
"Another wetback from the stupid class," blurted Albert, one of the Northside jocks.
"No habla Ingles,"
yelled another.
I cringed with anger, Fundamental Math was for the slow kids, and the jocks would take no pity on her. Ms. Jensen quickly struggled to regain control of the disrespectful students. A wad of paper shot from the midst of the teasing kids and hit Rose on the head. She looked up and her eyes said it all. Dark brown and soulful, they held tears about to wash down her face.
Usually reticent I yelled, "Shut the fuck up!" Stunned, the students hushed. They were a bunch of stupid ass-holes . . . idiots!
Ms. Jensen reacted quickly, "Millie, Albert outside. Now!" she snapped sharply. I slowly turned and stared down the class, silently mouthing,
go to hell
, then walked outside behind a meek Albert.
The strong-willed teacher, normally calm and rational, was angrier than I'd ever seen her. She spent at least a minute calming herself in the hallway as Albert fidgeted uncomfortably. I looked at her, daring her to come after me.
"Albert, your childish behavior doesn't shock me any longer," she said. "I've become somewhat used to your bullying, badgering and abusive language toward those you consider inferior. You are a shit!"
Her use of profanity shocked both of us and we looked at her in silence for the longest time.
"I have a suggestion for you that is worth attending to. I believe the coach from A&M is interested in offering you a scholarship for some mundane athletic acumen that you may possess. Is this correct?"
Albert, looking worried, nodded his head in agreement.
"And this is your opportunity to escape from our illustrious community?"
He nodded again.
"I can't hear you Albert."
"Yeah."
"What!" Her sharp tone said she would brook no nonsense from him.
"Yes ma'am," he said with the slightest touch of sarcasm, not fully understanding how serious she was.
"If you desire for me to call the recruiter and describe your exploits in my classroom, I'll be happy to accommodate that request. Is that something you desire?"
He looked up in an expression that started with anger, but quickly ended in fear, "No ma'am."
"Then put your tail between your legs, walk back into my class, sit your sorry self down and shut your mouth. Is that plain enough for you?"
"Yes ma'am," Albert started to turn and walk away.
"And Albert, one more small request. That girl, Rose, you have no idea what her life is like or what she's been through. If you had half the courage she does then you just might turn into something. Yes, she's not wealthy, nor does she possess a star studded IQ, but she's special, ethical and hard working. She earned the right to be in this class. You have no idea how hard it is to overcome a mental, or physical, abnormality. May I suggest that you consider that possibility?"
He nodded.
"What?"
"Yes ma'am."
"You may go now."
"Sorry."
"Don't lie to me, just go back inside and sit down." The six-foot athletic boy went humbly back into the class while I smirked. No matter what Ms. Jensen did to me, the look of cowardice on Albert's face was worth the looming trouble.
The teacher looked at me with a mix of kindness and anger, "Millie, get the grin off your face." Then she smiled, "Oh God that was fun berating that immature child," she uncharacteristically said. I nodded trying to keep from laughing. Then we looked at each other for a few seconds.
"Dear," she said and paused for what seemed like a long time as if she was carefully considering her next words, "that girl overcame many naysayers to get to this class. She's been referred to as retarded and stupid for years, and I'm glad you stood up for her. But you can't use profanity in my class, understood?" Then she smiled again, realizing she'd just used profanity, "Some example I am, huh?"
"Yes, is that all?" I said and glanced at the door to the room.
"Not so fast young lady. You're not getting off the hook so easily."
I sighed.
"I'm about to make you angry so get ready . . . Your art teacher tells me you have talent. The best she's ever seen at eighteen. I've read your essays in literature—they're truly remarkable, child, and from one so young! Lordie, that poem about the girl with blue eyes just made me cry. You're exceptional." She stopped and looked at me trying to see if I would say anything. I didn't; I was trying to figure out her angle.
"So here's my question, are you just going to be another Southside banger's slut? Because that's where you're heading."
I looked at her enraged, "I ain't nobodies' slut." What was I supposed to do? Tell her that my mother's a whore, my dad's a pervert and I'm probably a lesbian? Shit, how could she understand my world? The bitch!
"Calm down. Look at me and listen," she said in a tone that meant business.
I looked at her with rage and contempt building up in me rapidly. If she was trying to push my buttons, she found them.
"Yes, you deserved to be called that," she said, continuing to rile me and making me wonder how long I'd take this shit from her, but I held my tongue.
"There's something in you dear. Something unusual that a few of us mature women at this school recognize. I've never seen one so talented as you. Don't you know what you are?" She looked at me waiting for an answer. I was suddenly puzzled.
"You have no idea do you?"
I shrugged, still seething but now listening with some growing interest. What was she talking about?
"You're a prodigy dear, an unkempt prodigy, able to light words with fire and produce art of beauty. I'd like to help get you out of here after this year if you're willing. I'm willing to do that if you truly want to do it, but you must do some things in order to earn it. Don't waste your life in the Southside sweetie."
After a moment of silence I asked, "Why help me?" No one ever helped me before.
"It's a long story my child, so I'll give you the short version. Twenty years ago I was worse than you. Crappy parents, not unlike your drunken mother and regretful father; I'm sorry, my dear, but this is not the time to be overly polite. My dear sweet father told me every day I was garbage. By the time I was fifteen, I was probably headed for trouble. My deformity predisposed me to ridicule, and I was destined for failure. My attitude back then would have guaranteed that nothing good would ever happen to me. I would be much different right now, and not exactly helping the world in my small way, save for one thing. Can you guess what that was?"
"A teacher?" I guessed, but I had no idea why I said that.
