Sour Lemon and Sweet Tea

By Julane Fisher

For fans of Because of Winn-Dixie, Pippa Park Raises Her Game, or The Lemonade War comes a heartfelt story of courage, hope, and forgiveness.

"A beautiful story about forgiveness and self-discovery, characters are relatable and real." -Readers' Favorite

• Language: English
• Publisher: PixieDust for Young Readers
• Release date: Sep 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988240914

Book preview

Chapter 1

Secrets, bees, and bullies had a lot in common the summer I turned twelve.

All the trouble started the day my identical twin sister, Ellie, and I waited on the front porch for our friends to arrive for the annual baseball tournament.

Did you know fireflies only come out in the summer, Lillie Mae? my sister asked, dangling her legs between the wooden rails. Fireflies like warm humid weather where there’s plenty for them to eat.

Where did you hear that? I asked, pacing back and forth behind Ellie.

Ellie twirled her finger around the long brown braid that weaved down her back. Since no one outside our family could tell Ellie and me apart, Mama had always braided our hair in different ways. I wore my hair in two braids because my curls frizzed, especially in the summer. I read it in a book, she said.

Figures. I rolled my eyes.

She tilted her head to one side. What’s that supposed to mean?

I stopped pacing. You always have your nose buried in a book.

You can learn a lot of things from reading. Ellie tossed the braid over her shoulder with a huff.

I didn’t understand how anyone, including fireflies, could love humidity. Loose strands of hair stuck to my sweaty face. I learn from experience, Ellie. I’ll be the best player on the field today because I practice, not because I read it in some dumb book.

She threw her head back in an exhaustive cry. Oh, Sour Lemon.

Ellie started calling me a Sour Lemon when we were little because of my annoying habit of talking back. For as long as I could remember, Mama would sit on the front porch with a glass of iced tea with lemon and watch us play. According to Mama, a true glass of southern sweet tea needed lemon to create a symphony of opposite tastes on the tongue. Ellie was as sweet as the iced tea we drank. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. But according to Ellie, I resembled a sour lemon.

Our conversations went something like this. Ellie would say, You need to sweeten up, Sour Lemon. And I would say, I’d rather be a lemon than brown icky stuff. It was a stupid reply, but it made her laugh. Ellie and I never stayed mad at each other for very long.

A truck the color of cherry tomatoes tore down our driveway, whipping up a dust storm. I wondered who would be dumb enough to speed down a gravel drive in a brand-new vehicle. That’s when it hit me. This guest wasn’t invited. No one I knew could afford a fancy truck like this one.

Mama marched outside toward Ellie and me. Her mouth hung open like she had something to say, but the sight of Ellie’s outfit made her stop in her tracks. She took one look at Ellie’s short shorts and shook her head. Good gravy, Ellie. Take off those Daisy Dukes and put on some proper clothing for baseball.

Ellie’s shorts were a pair of blue jeans she had chopped shorter than a pixie haircut. They were named after my favorite television show, The Dukes of Hazard. Those brothers stirred up more trouble than Georgia dirt, but every girl in town wanted to look like their beautiful cousin, Daisy Duke.

Mama and Ellie went inside, leaving me alone on the porch. Ellie stomped the entire way, muttering under her breath about changing clothes. But I snickered because Sweet Tea never got in trouble. That was my job.

That red truck edged closer, then slowed to a halt at the end of my driveway. When the door opened, a tall man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes stepped out. He wore a three-piece suit with a tie that matched his eyes. He stared at me, so I stared back, neither one of us speaking.

It reminded me of the old Wild West movies I’d seen on TV with the dust flying in the air and a man standing with his hands on his hips. I could almost hear the western music playing in the background as we yanked our pistols from their holsters. When he disappeared behind our house, my imaginary world collided with my real one.

Violet Holt, my arch nemesis, walked around the hood of the Ford and strutted toward me. Violet moved to town a few months ago and was in Mrs. Periwinkle’s sixth grade class with Ellie and me. Mrs. Periwinkle was the nicest teacher I’d ever had, but Violet turned out to be the meanest girl on this side of the Mississippi River. She was also the richest kid in town, so no one dared challenge her. Except me.

I had a habit of talking back whenever she opened her big, nasty mouth. Like the time she made fun of my favorite teacher. I had to laugh at the irony of a girl named Violet making fun of a lady named Periwinkle. Although back talking had gotten me in more tangled messes than I could count, my words flew out like hawks chasing rats.

Ellie ambled back out to the front porch wearing shorts down to her knees and a red and blue striped shirt. When she spotted Violet, she came to a screeching halt.

Violet scowled. Why are you farm girls sitting around? Shouldn’t you be feeding chickens or something?

Is this the right time to mention that Ellie and I are both standing up?

But Sweet Tea Ellie just smiled. We’re waiting for our friends. Everyone’s coming to our farm today to play baseball.

And we didn’t invite you, I added, putting my hands on my hips for extra emphasis.

Violet’s eyes scrunched together, and she put her hands on her hips too. Who says I wanted to be invited?

Well, you’re here, aren’t you? I glared at her.

I came with my daddy. He just bought a brand-new 1979 Ford truck. Violet gestured to the truck that had raced down my driveway.

I shrugged my shoulders. So?

So, it’s the best there is, Lillie Mae. The fanciest model they make. Violet pointed her nose toward the sky.

She scanned the baseball diamond in my front yard where three of my brothers, Jimmy, Jesse, and George, tossed the ball around the bases. Jesse and Jimmy, the oldest twins, were a year older than me and going in to eighth grade. The youngest twins, George and Grace, were only six.

When we were little, Daddy cleared the land between our house and my grandparents, whose house sat closest to the road. Daddy built a full-size baseball diamond right in the front yard. It caused a big disagreement with my grandfather, Pappy, who thought they should use the land for farming. But Daddy wouldn’t hear of it. He had played baseball in high school and wanted his kids to grow up playing ball. Daddy’s dream was to play for the Atlanta Braves, but for reasons no one will say, he never made it to the pros. It’s one of many family mysteries I planned to solve that summer.

Violet’s ugly frown turned upside down when she spotted Jesse crouched behind home plate. Everybody loved Jesse. Between his blue eyes and the dimple in the center of his chin, the girls went crazy.

Violet spun on her heels and sauntered toward the field, fiddling with her curls. Hi, Jesse.

I felt nauseous.

Uh, hi. Jesse stood and tossed the baseball in the air, catching it with his glove.

What are you doing? she asked.

Practicing for the big game. You’re awfully dressed up for baseball, Jesse said.

She looked ridiculous. Her pale pink dress had tiny blue flowers sprinkled all over, and a white bow rested below her chin. She wore knee socks, pulled up high on her legs, with white sandals. Considering I had on jean shorts and a yellow T-shirt, Violet was way overdressed.

Plus, it was ninety-five degrees out. Violet must be sweatin’ like a sinner in church.

I don’t play baseball. She eyed me and said, That’s a boy’s sport.

I wanted to kick a chunk of Georgia red clay onto Violet’s white sandals.

Ellie must have read my mind. Hey, Violet? Why don’t I show you our tire swing while you wait for your daddy? She stepped off the porch and led the way to our side yard, where Pappy had built a swing for Ellie and me out of a tractor tire. He hung the tire from the largest branch on the old oak tree that nestled against my house.

I followed them toward the swing when shouts from inside the house lured me instead. My habit of spying on the grownups kicked into high gear. Ellie said it was like stirring up a bee’s nest and one day it would get me in trouble.

Ellie saw me lingering near the open back door. You’re gonna get stung, Lillie.

I ignored her negative attitude and tiptoed inside. I kept my body tight against the kitchen wall and poked my head around the corner. In the family room, I spied the man from the truck waving a stack of papers in Daddy’s face. When Mama raced to the scene from somewhere down the hall, that man’s scowl curved into a grin.

Hi, Ruth. Good to see you again. You look as beautiful as ever on this fine afternoon. His voice sounded like maple syrup.

How does Mama know Violet’s father?

Daddy’s voice turned to a low growl. Why you no good, dirty—

What are you doing here, Duke? Mama’s voice was tense.

We need to talk. I tried explaining all this to Tommy Ray. He won’t listen, Duke said.

Now is not a good time. We have a lot of children coming to the house today to play ball, so we are quite busy. I have to kindly ask you to leave, Mama said.

Hang on, now. Listen a minute. I’ve got a buyer for your land. It’s an excellent offer, Duke said.

I told you, Duke. I ain’t selling. Daddy’s jaw tightened and a vein in the middle of his forehead popped out.

I think when you see this offer, you’re going to change your mind, Duke continued. Development is coming to Triple Gap, Tommy Ray. You can’t stop it forever.

He must be referring to the shopping mall. Some folks wanted the town to grow, but the farmers in Triple Gap weren’t too keen on giving up their land to build shopping centers.

Daddy stuck his finger in Duke’s face. Now you listen here. I’d rather lose my land than sell to the likes of you.

Be careful what you wish for, Duke said.

Lose our land? Where are we going to live? Air escaped from my lungs in heavy puffs.

My grandparents, Pappy and Meemaw, lived on our farm too. Daddy grew up in that tiny white house that sat close to the road. Behind their house, was the baseball diamond and my house. Would we all have to move?

The vein in Daddy’s forehead popped out again. Get off my property, you thief.

That’s enough. Both of you, Mama shouted, turning toward Daddy. Tommy Ray? We’ll finish this conversation another time. She glanced over her shoulder and bobbed her chin toward me.

Gulp. My eyes widened. I ducked behind the wall, but not fast enough. Daddy’s face turned as red as a raspberry.

You need to leave, Duke. Mama’s words were like ice.

I should have fled the scene. I should have minded my own business. But I didn’t. Instead, I tilted my head around the corner one last time.

Look this offer over, will you, Ruth? Duke handed Mama the stack of papers, then marched to the front door. With one hand on the doorknob, he turned to Daddy. The buyer already bought the piece beside you, so this may be your last chance, Tommy Ray.

When the front door slammed, Mama exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours. After all this time. I never thought he’d return. He’s been gone for fifteen years.

I scrambled to the back door before she had the chance to say another word, but Daddy’s hollering stopped me in my tracks.

Lillie Mae? Not a word of this, ya hear me?

I swallowed hard. Yes, sir.

My legs felt like they’d turned to stone. I crept to the swing and found Ellie alone. The tires on Duke Holt’s truck spun in the gravel as he revved the engine and sped away.

Ellie jumped off the swing and rushed to my side. What’s wrong, Lillie? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.

My body shuddered. Maybe I did. Maybe I just did.

Chapter 2

What’s wrong with you?

That’s my brother Jimmy, shouting at me as I staggered to my usual spot on first base. Jimmy stood on the pitcher’s mound, winding up his arms in exaggerated circles. Although he was the best baseball player in the county and organized this tournament every summer, Jimmy and I didn’t see eye to eye on anything.

Nothing, I answered.

Well, hurry cause you’re about to see the fastest pitch in the West.

We live in the South, Jimmy, for your information, I shouted from first base.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. No duh, Lillie Mae. It’s an expression.

My nine-year-old brother, Billy, waited on second base, punching his gloved hand