Lemon Lips

• chapter one •

• chapter one •

COLIN HATES RUNNING, with all his person.

    Or, he used to, at least. It's a shame that he's really very good at it. When he was nine, he'd won a race at a local picnic, because the price was a gift card to an ice cream place, and he hadn't had ice cream in an entire year. As soon as his mom found out, she'd signed him up for every half marathon, and she enrolled him into every track team up until high school. By freshman year he'd acquired a grudging okay-taste for it, and by sophomore year he made varsity.

    The day that everything in his life changes, Colin is running. He hasn't ran for two months, ever since he sprained his knee at a meet, when some asshole pushed his sweaty elbow into Colin. As it happens, the one day he decides to run is the hottest day on record not just for May, but also for Oregon, ever.

    A mile later, Colin is regretting running a mile, because now he'll have to run back home, which means he'll have run two miles today, and by now, he's actually considering calling somebody to pick him up. He can hear his breath in his head, loud and uneven. When Colin see something up ahead, he gradually slows down to an unsteady walk and pulls his iPod out from his shorts' pocket to pause the music. His left hand flies up to shield the sun away from his eyes as he tucks the iPod back into his pocket. He made a mistake. Saturdays should be spent watching movies with friends, not exercising.

    A plastic, fold-able table is set up on the sidewalk a few feet before him, and Colin slowly walks towards it. There is a white cloth draped over it and a sign he can't read stuck to the front. If he squints hard enough, he can just make out the form of April Cho. She's hunched over something set on the table before her, arm on either side of it, conjoined above her head to block the sun from herself. Frowning, Colin stops right before her. April's head jerks up as she feels his presence, and her eyes widen as they take in Colin standing in front of the table, chest rising and falling as he tries to capture his breath.

    "Gross," says April, eyes crinkling in the middle. Colin looks at her blankly. The thing she'd been hunched over is a book. New York Times Bestseller Short Stories.

    "Is that lemonade?" he asks, and she nods.

    "You want some?"

    Colin shrugs, and with a slight smile, she grabs a cup and the pitcher. There are only two ice cubes left clinking against the glass. "Lemonade stands," Colin says thoughtfully, mindlessly, as she pours some of the juice into a red Solo cup, "are for pretentious fifth graders who think they can get richer than the other fifth graders by selling lemon juice and sugar."

    "And water," adds April, not looking up.

    "And ice."

April sets the pitcher down with a thud and narrowed eyes.

    "I thought you're thirsty."

    "I am."

    "I don't doubt it."

    "Funny."

She grins, and he can see the gaps in her teeth.

    "Here," she says, handing him the paper cup. He studies it warily before nodding.

    "Thanks." Colin drains the cup and frowns at her, "but I still think this doesn't make sense."

    "Thank you for your input, I'll be sure to make good use of it."

    "This is how I use your sarcasm," Colin says, raises the empty cup, crushes it, and lets it drop to the ground. April's expression doesn't change.