Lois Fogg
Rated PG-13
Fire
Email: SireneCall@hotmail.com
AuthorÕs Notes at the end

Chapter One: Peaches and Milkshakes

I met him two years before I knew his name.
	At the time, my father was a prominent politician, a Virginia
senator. He was a good candidate for the presidency, but the election
was still three years away. That didnÕt stop him from acting like the
election was next month. Everywhere he went, he was campaigning. I
loved my father, but I was always upset that he could never act like a
real person. I wished that he could stop being a politician for once, and
be my father. That day was no different. On our way home from
churchÑI was never religious, but dad always forced us to go every
Sunday for appearanceÕs sakeÑI begged him to stop at a fruit stand. It
was on Wisconsin Avenue, next to the Starbucks that I always went to
before school. I wasnÕt in school now, of course. I was on my much
loved summer vacation. If there was one thing I liked about private
schools, it was that they always had longer vacations.
	The reason I begged him to stop was because of the peaches.
During the summer, IÕm always on a perpetual quest for good peaches.
I couldnÕt have known that this passion would have led where it did, on
that hot July day. I couldnÕt have known, but I canÕt deny that I felt
*something*. Like a crash of water in my stomach that told me
something momentous was happening. Dad parked the car and I got
out. I was wearing one of my favorite outfits: a yellow sundress with a
low scoop neck and high lace sandals. I was wearing my mothers
sunglasses, and my hair had been done just the day before. I confess
that I felt absolutely beautiful as I stepped out of that car. The brusque
wind made my two notorious pigtails flap behind me in the wind, but
the ÔdumplingsÕ held, like I knew they would. I walked slightly in front
of my father, pretending that I wasnÕt related to him, play-acting that I
was glamorous and beautiful. I gave up all pretense of sophistication
when I saw the peaches.
	They were the most incredible specimens that I had ever seen.
They were massive, easily larger than my hand, and looked as if they
had been plucked fresh from the tree. I let out a delighted shriek and
ran to them. I nearly fell over, however, when I saw him. He was the
most beautiful person IÕd ever seen in my life. He had a dark thatch of
unruly hair, that fell disarmingly into his face. He was wearing a pair of
work jeans with holes in the knees and a wife-beater. His eyes were
what left me defenseless. They were incredibly, remorselessly blueÑa
blue so dark they nearly seemed purple. They looked so deep, so
deceptively calm on the surface, but I knew there was something
underneath. His lips quirked in a half smile as he watched my paralysis.
It seemed, to my embarrassment, that he knew exactly why I looked the
way I did and the fact amused him. Slowly, teasing me, he reached
down to pick up a peach. He hadnÕt looked, so I guess that it was just
luck that he picked a perfect one.
	ÒLooks good, huh?Ó He said with a raised eyebrow that made
my heart pound painfully in my ribs.
	ÒY-yesÉÓ I stammered, looking at him with a glazed
expression. ÒI- I love peaches.Ó
	*I love peaches*, I repeated inside my head incredulously.
	My dad by that time had caught up. He walked purposefully
next to me, destroying the strange moment between us.
	ÒMy daughter here just *loves* fresh peaches.Ó He said with
that fake amiability that set my teeth on edge.
	He looked at me with hilarity in his eyes, and I blushed and
turned away. Before he could respond, however, a much older man
who had been working over by the fruit truck came up behind him.
	ÒDoes she, now!Ó The man exclaimed to my father. ÒWell,
weÕll just have to give her some. How many do you want, honey?Ó
	I had felt so old and mature. It seemed like such an insult to be
called ÒhoneyÓ. But knowing that my dad would be mad at me if I
ruined his moment of ÒfatherhoodÓ and Òdown home valuesÓ I grit my
teeth and answered. The other one looked at me with a knowing smile
and I flushed again. He was SO fine!
As the man put the peaches into the bag, he talked to my father, who
was in full-swing politician mode.
ÒMy grandson here is going to college.Ó He said proudly,
beaming up at the gorgeous one. He winced and stared at the ground,
and it was my turn to give him a sarcastic look. He stared at me, the
irresistible humor back in his eyes. ÒTit for tat.Ó He seemed to say, and
shrugged his shoulders minutely. I melted.
ÒÉgood to see our younger generation getting ahead.Ó My
dad was saying. ÒSo, sonny, where are you going to school?Ó
	ÒWell, sir,Ó He said ÔsirÕ with a slight mocking edge, but I
donÕt think dad noticed. ÒIÕm going to Harvard.Ó
	ÒYes,Ó His grandfather interrupted again, Òand weÕre all proud
of him, too. ThatÕs why weÕre selling this fruit, you see. To help pay for
his education.Ó
	ÒWell, then!Ó My father said. ÒGive me twenty more peaches.
IÕm sure Serena here can finish them.Ó
	I saw a flash of something in his eyes, then, something deeper
than the mockery of before. It was like intense despair tinged with hurt
pride and indignation. I shuddered looking at it. Who was he? Why did
he feel this way?
	I walked slowly back to the car, feeling his blue eyes boring
holes through my back. Just as I climbed into the seatb, I gave into the
temptation and looked back. He smiled and my lips quirked up
involuntarily. He gave me a long, suggestive wink, and then went back
to work, pretending as though nothing had happened.
	Perhaps nothing had, I thought, on the ride back. But I didnÕt
believe it, not really.

Two Years Later:

	Uncertainly, I walked through Harvard Yard, looking at the
card with my dorm assignment. It had been two years since that strange
incident at the fruit stand. If I was hoping, somewhere in the back of
my mind, to see him again, I did not allow myself to really consider it. I
was being so silly, remembering him as if he were the love of my life.
However, he was not on my mind at the moment. What *was* on my
mind was that I was alone, couldnÕt find my dorm and had a terrible
sense of direction. The majority of my heavy luggage had already been
delivered to the school, but I was lugging two suitcases full of last
minute packing decisions. I sat panting in the middle of the quadrangle,
trying again to find my dorm hall. I felt so inept, and too embarrassed
to ask somebody. What are you doing here, if you canÕt find a dorm?
After all, and I still felt a sense of wonder to find myself at Harvard, of
all places. Me, Serena Johnston. Admittedly the daughter of a famous
senator, but all around klutz, lazy bum Serena. Sure, I had worked my
butt off in high school, but I still thought of myself that way. I
impatiently blew an errant strand of blond hair out of my face and
looked again at the card. People around me were giving me strange
looks, but I ignored them studiously. I looked up desperately, and then
saw it: Peabody Hall. [AN: I donÕt go to Harvard, so I donÕt know the
places around there very well. Most of the landmarks I mention will be
my imagination, so donÕt bug me!] I had been in front of it this entire
time, and I hadnÕt noticed! Shaking my head in disbelief, I grabbed my
bags and lugged them inside the door. My room, the card said, was on
the top floor. I saw guys and girls moving in, and I felt a jolt of
excitement. It was a co-ed dorm! All right, so I had known it before,
but it the full impact hadnÕt hit me until then. I sort of hoped one of
guys would notice me, but they were all too busy with their bags to
notice one tired-looking girl with a funky-looking hairstyle. With a
sigh, I stepped inside the elevator and got out on my floor. My arms
rebelled at the thought of walking down a hall with the suitcases, so I
was grateful that my room was close to the elevator. I took a deep
breath, and walked inside.

	Somebody was already there. My roommate Raye, I assumed,
although she looked nothing like what I had expected. From her letters,
I had anticipated someone rather homely, with a quiet demeanor.
Instead, Raye was only what I could describe as a firebrand. Her hair
was black, but with so many red highlights it looked burgundy. It hung
all the way down her back. She had sharp brown eyes that looked as if
they wouldnÕt tolerate any stupidity. She was busy putting sheets on her
bed, and the radio was on.
	ÒUmÉhello.Ó I said from the door. Raye hadnÕt heard me
come in over the radio.
	She wheeled around, clutching sheets to her head. ÒWhew!Ó
she said, laughing, when she saw me. ÒYou scared me! You must be
Serena.Ó I nodded.
	ÒYou look different than I imagined.Ó Raye said. ÒWhat are
those meatball thingies on your head, anyway?Ó
	I felt the telltale reaction when somebody insulted my
hairstyle. I lost my previous feelings of timidity and stared belligerently
at Raye.
	ÒWhatÕs wrong with my hair?Ó
	ÒNothing, you just look like tonightÕs dinner.Ó
	I saw red. ÒWell, you look like youÕre wearing a bad wig that
got caught in a clothes dryer!Ó
	Raye looked about to retort, and then took a deep breath.
ÒWeÕll be sticking our tongues out at each other in another second if we
donÕt stop. All right, letÕs try again.Ó
	ÒHello, my name is Raye.Ó She said with forced cordiality,
and extended her hand.
	ÒSerena.Ó I said laconically, and with as much dignity as I
could muster, coldly shook RayeÕs hand and stalked over to her bed.
	No, not what I had been expecting at all. That was for sure.

	Three hours later, we walked together through Cambridge,
exuding forced cordiality. Raye was officially a pain in the ass, but one
that I would have to get along with, at least for this year. It was funny,
because I had liked her so much in the letters that she had written me
over the summer. I guessed that there was no knowing someone until
youÕve seen them in person. We were going to this great ice cream
store that Raye had told me about. I was experiencing ice cream
withdrawal, and desperately need a milkshake fix. My favorite kind
were strawberry chocolate milkshakes, made at my favorite ice cream
place: Uptown Scoop [AN: thatÕs actually a place on Connecticut
Avenue in Washington, DC. I go there after school every chance I can
get!] I only hoped that this place was as good as Raye said. As it turned
out, it was much better.
	I had that weird ocean feeling in my stomach again, when I
looked at the sign above the shop: GliffordÕs Old Fashioned Ice Cream.
	ÒMan, I must be hungrier than I thought!Ó I exclaim, trying to
ignore the recollection of the other time I felt like that.
	Raye looked at me with something akin to friendliness.
	ÒWell, I like milkshakes, too, Serena. But I donÕt think IÕve
ever felt this singularÉpassion.Ó
	I laughed and squealed a little, steps away from the delicious
ambrosia of a chocolate-strawberry milkshake. Raye just looked at me
like I was crazy.
	Then I walked inside.

	For a while I just stared, not fully able to believe that I was
genuinely seeing HIM. So I had allowed myself to daydream for weeks,
well months really, that I would see him here. I had never really
believed it. There were tons of students at Harvard, what were the
chances that I would meet one whose name I didnÕt even know? But the
second I saw him behind the counter, serving ice cream to a gaggle of
giggling girls, I knew who he was. He wore the lightly mocking smile I
remembered so well, but he lookedÑif anythingÑbetter than he had
the last time. I think I let out some sound, because Raye looked at me.
	ÒHe is hot, isnÕt he?Ó She said, appreciatively. I couldnÕt even
respond, I think I must have gone into shock.
	ÒSerena, hello, anybody home?Ó Raye called, waving her
hands in front of my glazed expression.
I shook myself into a more aware state and stared at her.
	ÒDo you want that milkshake or not?Ó She said in
exasperation. I nodded dumbly. Raye grabbed my hand, rolling her
eyes expressively, and dragged me to the counter. I was vaguely aware
that I was making a fool of myself and that HE was just as aware of my
reaction to his appearance this day as he had been two years ago. Some
things just donÕt change, do they?
	He smiled at me and all that water in my stomach became a
tidal wave. I thought I was going to be sick.
	ÒDo you want something?Ó He asked in the type of way that
implied he knew what I wanted, and ice cream probably wasnÕt it. I
donÕt know if it was just maturity or a genuine desire for a milkshake,
but after he said that, I finally broke out of my stupor. He gave himself
too much credit! I thought indignantly. All right, so I definitely had had
clandestine dreams of romance with him, but I wanted a milkshake. I
loved milkshakes. How dare he imply that all I wanted was an excuse
to see him? To tell you the truth, IÕm not sure he was implying quite
that much, but at the time I got a little worked up about it.
	ÒI certainly do,Ó I said, feeling slightly absurd about the idea
of challenging him with a milkshake. ÒCould you please make me a
strawberry-chocolate milkshake with vanilla syrup?Ó That was always
my order at Uptown Scoop, and if he was going to be so self-righteous,
he could definitely make me my milkshake. He looked at me with a
smile tinged with respect and I felt the familiar feeling of melting into
the floor. Milkshakes andÉwhoever he was, I thought dreamily. Now,
THAT was a perfect combination. Raye looked at our exchange with
confusion.
	ÒIs something else going on here? Do you know this guy?Ó
She whispered quickly in my ear, completely forgetting that we were
supposed to dislike each other.
	I shook my head mutely, oggling his perfect derriere which he
was obligingly swaying in time to ÒDo You Love MeÓ. The rest of the
shop was small, with a wooden bench in the corner and two small
tables. The girls who had bought their ice cream just before we came in
were sitting on the bench, watching our exchange with the type of
curiosity that made me know I would be the subject of several emails.
No one had ever affected me like this before. I had been attracted to
other people, but he, whoever he was, seemed to excite the kinds of
passions within me that I had only read about. It was scary to feel
uncomfortable in a strangely pleasurable way. I had to remind myself
to breathe. Too soon he finished, and poured the milkshake into the cup
with such a flourish that I knew he had done it just to impress me. He
handed it to me with a straw that he ostentatiously opened.
	ÒNo oneÕs ever gotten one of these before. I hope you like it.Ó
He said, and I was suddenly struck at how absurd it was that I was
feuding with the hottest guy IÕve ever seen in my life over a milkshake,
of all things!
	ÒI hope so too.Ó I said with as much dignity as I could muster,
and proceeded to take a long sip of the milkshake. It was perfect. It
soared to new heights in my mouth and I closed my eyes to savor it as
long as possible. Finally I swallowed it, and opened my eyes.
	ÒThat is SOOOO good!Ó I shrieked, forgetting about my
merry war. He stared at me for a second, and then lost it, laughing so
hard that he had to wipe his eyes. Despite myself I started to laugh too,
and the two of us had hysterics while the rest of the people in the store
stared at us like we were crazy. Finally he calmed down and said: ÒIÕm
glad you like it.Ó I just blushed and told Raye to order already. As I
stared at his back, I was embarrassed when he turned around abruptly
to catch me. He winked again, in that slow way I remembered from two
years ago and finished scooping RayeÕs peppermint ice cream. I wanted
to stay, but Raye was obviously eager to discuss what the hell had just
happened, away from HIM. Just as we walked to the door, he called out
to me. He didnÕt use my name, he just said ÔheyÕ, but I knew who he
was talking to. I turned around.
	ÒDo you still like peaches?Ó He asked looking expectant. I
stared at him, despite myself feeling happier than I ever had in my life.
He remembered me! All this time, all those long nights spent
daydreaming about him and he remembered me!
	ÒYes!Ó I said joyfully. ÒEven more than before.Ó
***************

Well, I know itÕs been a while, hasnÕt it? But IÕve been really inspired
by this story, so I decided that I just had to get back into the Sailor
Moon fanfic scene ;D I really want to thank everybody who emailed
me about my other stories, itÕs great to get feedback, and itÕs great to
feel appreciated. Of course thanks to AndreaÑIÕm always impressed
with how much she goes through for this site. About this story, it is not
a hentai, itÕs not even quite a lime, but it is kind of mature and IÕm not
going to skirt around a lot of stuff. I hope you like it so far, and donÕt
worry, IÕm already writing the fifth chapter! I know some of you are
going to go ÔSerena at Harvard, yeah right!Õ except, in my defense, I
really donÕt think that itÕs that far fetched. Serena is lazy, not stupid,
and she could have gotten her act together in high school. All right,
then, email me!! (and if you liked this, you might try reading my other
stories).
Lois