Lemon Meringue and all Things Sweet

Chapter One

"What about this one?" My mother questioned, holding up a yellow sun dress with white ribbon swathing the waist.

I knew my best friend; elbow scrapes and grass-stained knees, and a sunny dress was not on her list of tolerated girl stereotypes pushed onto her by her mother. I've only known her four years and even I know Scarlet would do anything to avoid the girl sections at department stores when she is dragged there by her mother who's only dream is to have a daughter to pamper.

"No," I sighed in disappointment because we've been at it for hours, attempting to find a birthday present for Scar for her big one-six.

"Look Lemon, I don't have all day. I have back-to-back appointments all afternoon..." I zoned her out. It's very typical of her to drone on and on over her work like the stress builds inside her and if she doesn't vent about it once in a while, she'll explode. I know my mother is a hard worker, but she's never really home. She eats dinner at her office and when her time is spent in my company, she's un-enjoyably overdosed on caffeine.

"Can't you just get her a friendship bracelet or something?" She mutters as she types away at her phone.

"We're not six mom," I whine. 

Searching through a rack of T-shirts, I come across a black muscle shirt with big boxy letters that spell 'Raccoon' across the chest.

"This is perfect!" I squeal and hand the shirt to my mother who absentmindedly grabs it while keeping one hundred percent focus to her phone. Raccoon is a band Scarlet tortures me with when she blasts the crude music while we hangout in her room.

I'm dropped off to Scarlet's house, a two story town house adorned with perfectly trimmed hedges. With the last-minute-shopping kind of birthday bag in my left hand I knock and wait. I hear footsteps approach. Just as I was about to attack my best friend with hugs, a boy I haven't been acquainted with in many years appears, a smirk held across his face.

"And who are you?" He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the door frame.

I stood there quietly looking down at a pair of sparkly jellies, my favorite kind of shoes since I was little.

"Ugh let her in Charles," My savior called from the top of the stairs.

"Does she speak?" He asked motioning me to follow him into the all-too-familiar living room.

"'She has a name, Lemon Madison. My best friend remember?" We entered her living room where Scar shoved a Caprisun in my hand as I sat on their cream colored sofa.

"This is Lemon? The same Lemon that wore a Lady Bug dress at age 11?"He chuckled at the last part.

"Hey don't pick on my best friend's exotic dress style," Scar stuck up for me.

I sat there slurping the rest of my juice pouch to the dregs. I remember all the lessons in manners my parents forced onto me. So, I got up, walking over to Charles and stuck my hand out abruptly in front of him.

"It's nice to be acquainted with you again. My name is Lemon, and I believe we met four years ago," I gave my biggest smile, the ones you give in a posed family photo. The kind that stares at you from above the fireplace.

"Do you always talk like you're reading from a manual? What kind of name is Lemon anyways?" He didn't shake my hand, but instead he took a seat on the sofa, arms spread out across the top, back facing the entrance where I stood. I've been acquainted to this question many times. I still don't know myself. I fathom it was because of the extra medication mom took to push 7.3 pounds of baby out. Or I wonder if she secretly has a fetish for lemons. I grimace.