Pass the Macaroni (Juno)

[storypaint]

Title: Pass the Macaroni
Author: rhap_chan
Fandom: Juno (movie)
Pairing: Juno femslash (no pairings)
Prompt: lgbtfest 480. Juno: Juno MacGuff. Having dramatically and publicly established herself as a heterosexual in the eyes of most of the people she knows is making it hard for Juno to figure out whether she's a lesbian and what to do about it.
IMPORTANT! I did not claim this with the fest, because the fic I wrote is way too short. I wrote this on my own time. NOT lgbtfest affiliated!
Rating: G
Word Count:
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Juno is not my property. This fanfic is a derivative of canon material that is not my property. I do not profit from these writings. The opinions and actions expressed in these stories are not necessarily the views and beliefs of the original author or me.

Excerpt: I started writing a song about the whole thing, and decided to blame it on my mother, but I couldn't think of anything to rhyme with cactus, so I biked over to see Bleeker.

When I realized I was really gay, it wasn't like a big magic epiphany or anything. It was quiet, something that grew in me slowly-- sort of like being pregnant, but without the staring and the swelling feet. It was pretty invisible, in fact. I'd sort of established myself as a heterosexual when I did the horizontal tango with Bleeker and ended up preggers. Lesbians don't sleep with boys. They date their best girl friends and cut their hair short and stop shaving and run away to Canada. I hadn't done any of these things. Maybe I'd want to later. That's what my research suggested anyway. I kept getting distracted by finding Wonder Woman/Batgirl porn. The Internet is such a wonderful thing.

I told Brenda's dogs about the whole thing, but they weren't particularly helpful, being male and allergen perpetrators. I didn't want to talk to Leah. She'd think I was just ogling her boobs. Which I was, being a lesbian, but only when she wouldn't notice.

I started writing a song about the whole thing, and decided to blame it on my mother, but I couldn't think of anything to rhyme with cactus, so I biked over to see Bleeker. I had to break the news to him anyway. He was still going to be my best friend, of course... just not, you know, anything more. And he told me once that he had an aunt who was a health food hippie lesbian. Maybe she could hook me up with her daughter or something. If she had one. It wasn't difficult to reproduce when you added a man to the equation, but I wasn't sure how lesbians produced spawn. Maybe I'd look it up on the Internet later.

"Juno, what's up?"

I'd caught him coming out of the house for his second afternoon run. It was funny the way Bleek was always in motion, but managed to stay just the same. I wondered if he did it to keep up with the world's rotation-- kind of like running in place, you know? Problem being, if you stop running, the world moves on anyway and does strange things, like make breasts interesting.

By this point I was pretty used to all of Bleeker's running, so I fell into step beside him and got halfway down the block before I said, "Bleeker, I think I'm a lesbian. We can't date anymore."

"You're not going to make me eat carrots and further the feminist movement, are you?" he asked, alarmed.

"No, no. I think I'm more of a "combat boots, save the trees" sort of lesbian," I answered. I'd thought about that one on the way over.

"So I guess we won't be... you know... ever again," he said. To his credit, Bleek sounded disappointed. I put a platonic hand on his shoulder.

"No, no more breeder sex for me. I think Katrina might still be interested in that kind of thing, though. But shoot blanks this time, Bleeker."

He saluted awkwardly. "Will do, Captain."

I told him about the song and he gave up running for the day (how the boy loves me) to work up a melody.

"Juno," he said after a while, "this lesbian thing. It doesn't change us, right? Our friendship?"

"It is totally kosher for a lesbian to have straight male friends. Like Will and Grace, but backwards," I reassured. If I was wrong, I didn't care. Nonconformity was always cool, right?

"Cool," Bleeker said. I thumped him on the shoulder and bent back to my guitar.

"Practice," he said after a minute. I looked up.

"'Practice' rhymes with 'cactus,'" he said, looking proud of himself.

"Perfect!" I said. And that is why, lesbian or not, Paulie Bleeker will always be the cheese to my macaroni.