The Prospect (Crawfield Football Club #3)

1. H A Z E L

ONE

H A Z E L

15 YEARS AGO - Age 7

“Alright, class!” my teacher, Ms. Murray, calls out—attempting to command a room full of my new energized classmates, who are either A. too busy to listen because they’re engaged in conversation, B. boisterously laughing about Lord knows what, or C. which stands for completely being a menace.

“That’s it, quiet down…quiet down.” Ms. Murray continues to settle the class as I’m left awkwardly standing by her side, toying with a box that rests in my hands. It’s become my safety blanket as the class comes to a standstill and all eyes make their way onto me.

“Good. Now that you’re all listening, I want to introduce you to a new student joining our class today. She and her family have just moved here all the way from Ireland. Now, by a show of hands, how many of you have been to Ireland?”

A few students raise their hands eagerly into the air as another couple call out, “Me, me!” It’s enough for Ms. Murray to place a hand on my shoulder, smile down at me and say, “See, Hazel. You’re not alone.”

When my parents broke the news that we were moving just south of London to a town called Crawley, it didn’t come as too much of a shock. From the moment I was born, my dad’s job has always required us to move.

Edinburgh, Paris, Brussels, Dublin, these are only a few of the many places I’ve resided in over the vast seven years of my life. The truth is, though, I’m used to this: new faces, new people—I love new people, but I hate that awkward first introduction every teacher seems to make me do when I join their class. Thankfully, by now, my introduction is a rehearsed speech in my mind. I know who I am. The only question is, will my classmates accept it?

“I’ve asked Hazel to stand up here to share a little bit about herself. As she presents, I expect each and every one of you to be on your best behavior. So, lips sealed, hands in your lap and save your questions till the end.”

Ms. Murray makes her way behind her desk, crossing one leg over the other before she flashes me a warm smile. “Hazel, the floor is all yours.”

Nervously, I nod, redirecting my line of vision to the impatient and bored out of their mind stares that grill into me. It’s enough to make me swallow and straighten my spine before I somehow manage to convince myself I can do this.

“Um…hi, everyone,” I begin, my voice equally as soft as it is quiet. “My name is Hazel Collins, and I’m?—”

“Speak up!” a boy in the back of the classroom loudly shouts, forcing my stomach to drop and the class to erupt into a fit of laughter.

“That’s enough, Maxwell!” Ms. Murray straightens up in her chair, scolding not only the class but the boy, who immediately quiets themselves down. “Hazel, dear?” she prompts me to look back at her with a reassuring look in her eyes. “Do you mind speaking up a little? I’d like you to really project your voice this time. Think you can do that?”

I nod my head yet again, clearing my throat as I make an attempt to start over. “Hi, everyone…” I peer down at the ground as I speak, though I'm louder than I was before. “My name is Hazel Collins. I’m seven years old, and something you should know about me is?—”

“Oi, pass me the ball. Pass it! Pass it! Yes, and Green goes in for the shot and he scores! Let’s go boys!”

The loud voice that echoes into our classroom from the hallway is enough for me to stumble yet again on my words, bringing me to a stop once more.

“This is so embarrassing,” someone remarks, leaving me to peer back over at Ms. Murray, hopeful that she’ll cut this fiasco short and save me from this embarrassment.

She doesn’t.

Rather than letting me sit down and hide under my desk for the rest of eternity, she gives me the signal to carry on, but right as I’m about to open my mouth to speak, a ball comes racing into the classroom and stops right at my feet.

“Okay, what in the world is going on?!” Ms. Murray rises up from her desk chair before rushing toward the open door, leaving me standing at the front of the class without a single clue as to what to do next.

“Go and get it!” I hear a voice instruct another from the hallway, though they continue to deny the request.

“No. You do it!”

“Me? You’re the one that kicked it in there. You go!”

And before Ms. Murray can reach the door, a boy who can’t be any more than a couple of years ahead of me, is pushed into the classroom. With wide eyes and an anxious smile, he playfully scoffs and shuffles his way forward.

“Sorry, everyone,” he apologizes to the class, walking straight past Ms. Murray as he bends down to pick up the ball at my feet before finally looking into my eyes and saying, “and uh—sorry to you. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I’m left glued in place, forced to do nothing but stare back at him. I think somehow he senses my in-ability to speak as he wearily swallows and slowly begins backing out of the room.

“Not so fast, Daniel!” Ms. Murray’s voice is enough to prompt him to stop in his tracks and turn on his heel. “What do you think you’re doing out of class, huh?”

“I…uh…” Daniel visibly seems to struggle for an answer, and given the way his voice cracks, it’s clear that whatever he’s about to come up with, it’s going to be a complete and total lie.

“Save it!” Ms. Murray raises a hand before he can mutter out so much as another word. “I’ll be speaking to your teacher later. For now, you’ll be joining my class. Have a seat.” She gestures toward a free-desk right in the front row.

Daniel hesitates for a moment, rocking back and forth as Ms. Murray instructs him once more, “Go on. Sit.”

“Yes, Ms. Murray.” Daniel apologetically makes his way over to the desk—one that just so happens to be directly in front of me.

“I’m so sorry about all the interruptions, Hazel.” Ms. Murray sits back down, prompting her desk chair to creek as she settles in. “Now, would you mind starting over? From the top?”

I pause once more, taking a deep breath in and slow breath out. As I do, looking back out at the class, it’s as if everyone disappears and now, the only person watching this introduction is him.

Daniel.

“My name is Hazel Collins.” I look at him the entire time as I speak. “I’m seven years old, and something you should know about me is that I love art. I’ve been drawing, painting, crafting, creating, ever since I can remember.” I smile, peering down at the box in my hands—my prized possession before I walk it forward and place it on top of Daniel’s desk.

“Do you mind?” I whisper, looking for reassurance in his eyes that shine. I know it’s just the reflection of the overhead lighting above us, but still, it reminds me of the stars—the sky.

“Not at all.” Daniel immediately moves the ball to the side, allocating more space for me to place down my things. As he does, I don’t know why my cheeks get so hot. I’ve never had this happen; I’ve never felt these weird emotions before.

“I’ll hold that for you,” Daniel offers as I remove the lid from my box and attempt to place it off to the side.

“Thanks.” My voice is that of a whisper as I leave it in his grasp, pull out my paint palette and place it between the palm of my hands to showcase it to the still invisible group.

“Everyone, this is my watercolor collection.” I gesture toward the colors in the pan. “I got it for my birthday last year and since then, it’s been my pride and joy!”

“Did you say, ‘collection’?” The class comes back into view as the same boy from earlier makes his second attempt to embarrass me.

Giggles erupt throughout the class as everyone turns over their shoulder and focuses on him instead of me.

“I’m just saying.” He cockily leans back into his chair. “There’s only like three colors. How is that a collection?”

“Maybe if you’d let her finish, then she’ll be able to explain.” It’s Daniel who's the first to jump to my defense before Ms. Murray can.

The boy goes silent, and this time, the giggles ricochet his way, prompting Daniel to confidently shoot him a look before smiling back at me.

“Don’t listen to them, Haze ,” he calls me by a nickname that no one has ever called me before. “Keep going. You’re doing so well.”

I pinch onto the sides of the palette to stop myself from smiling, but it’s so difficult—no one has ever stood up for me before, especially not a boy.

“Don’t be shy,” Daniel tells me once more. “Go on.”

I nod faintly, peering back down at the palette as I build up the courage to speak once more.

“You’re right.” I look over at a flushed Maxwell. “There are only three colors. But what you don’t realize is that in the palm of my hands, I hold every color imaginable.”

I feel a sense of confidence within as I'm met with intrigued looks from across the room, followed by a couple of “really’s?”

“Can you explain more, Hazel?” Ms. Murray asks, visibly supportive of my introduction, which has somehow turned into a lesson plan.

I nod, peering back down at the palette. “Well, these three colors are what you call primary colors—red, blue, and yellow.” I point to them one by one. “And by mixing different combinations, you can create anything you want! For example…” I reach to mix the colors. “If I mix blue and red, I’ll make purple. If I mix yellow and red, I’ll make orange, and if I mix blue and yellow, I’ll make my favorite color of all?—”

“ Green .”

Peering back from the palette, I look over to the class to see who it was that finished my sentence for me, but when I see a smiling face staring at me as the bell goes off, I know exactly who it was…

Daniel.

“Hazel?” One of the girls calls out my name as she and a group of others join me in the grass, painting. “Remind me, how do I make purple again?”

“Blue and red,” I tell her with a smile, gesturing back to the colors in the pan.

“Thanks.” She nods, using just that to create the perfect shade for her picture.

After my introduction this morning, a group of us decided to spend our lunch break painting what our heart’s desire most.

Fatima is painting a family portrait—she says they are the most important people in her life.

Aaliyah is painting an ocean with waves—she says she loves the water more than anything.

Lennon opted for a jungle with a monkey swinging on a vine—she says her ultimate dream is to go to the Amazon Rainforest.

And me…well, although I know it’s not real, I’ve opted for a fairytale scene, just like I’ve seen in the movies. I say, one day, I’ll get my own happily-ever-after.

Just like the others, I’ve gone all out with the details. I’ve got a magical enchanted castle, a horse-drawn carriage and I’ve even drawn myself wearing a princess gown, tiara and glass slippers.

It’s perfect.

“Wow, Hazel. That looks so amazing!” Fatima is quick to compliment my drawing, making me blush as the rest of the girls agree.

I’ve never had this before, a group I’ve immediately clicked with. It’s special… nice.

“Fatima’s right, it does look amazing, but you’re missing one detail, Hazel!” Aaliyah points over to the space beside me in the drawing.

I cock a brow. “What’s that?”

“Well, every fairytale has got to have a prince.”

“Not every fairytale!” Lennon is quick to rebut. “Maybe Hazel doesn’t want a prince. Maybe this is just her castle and her castle alone. You don’t need a prince to be a princess.”

It hasn’t taken long for me to learn Lennon is the most out-spoken of the group, and as we all playfully laugh and roll our eyes, I can’t help but think that in my fairytale, Aaliyah’s right.

I wanted to draw myself with a prince, but the reality is, how am I supposed to draw my prince charming if I don’t know what he looks like yet?

“Hazel?” The sound of Fatima’s voice breaks me free from that thought. “I need to make the color orange. How do I do that again?”

“Oh, you’ve just got to mix together red and?—”

Right before I’m about to finish my sentence, a ball comes racing toward us. Thankfully, we’re able to duck out of the way in time, but that doesn’t stop the ball from knocking over all of the paint while simultaneously spilling the cups of water we once used to clean off our brushes.

“What the heck?!” Aaliyah screams out as the water soaks her dress while the rest of us shoot our heads in

the direction the ball came from, where from afar, a group of boys are visibly laughing.

“You guys are a bunch of bullies, you know that?” Lennon shows no mercy when it comes to shouting at them as she helps to bring Aaliyah onto her feet. “How about you kick the ball around somewhere else, huh?”

“It’s not our fault that you’re painting in the middle of the field.” One of the boys raises his hands in defense. “We’re trying to play over here.”

“Yeah? Well, we were too!” Lennon sticks her tongue out at him before peering back down at Fatima and me, who have remained seated. “C’mon, girls.” She reaches for our hands.“Let's go inside.”

Fatima accepts her helping hand and stands up, but before she follows behind Lennon, she looks back down at me for reassurance. “Are you coming, Hazel?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her as I start to collect the scattered paint brushes up from the grass. “I’ll be there in just a second. I’ve just got to clean up.”

Fatima nods before running off, and as I continue to gather my things, someone catches me off guard as they rush over to my aid.

“Hey, are you okay? I’m so sorry about them, Haze .” The voice tenderly apologizes, taking me back, and not just because of their remorse, but because of the fact that before I even had to look up to confirm, I knew whose voice it was.

Who granted me that nickname.

Daniel.

“It’s okay…I’m okay.” Suddenly, I feel tongue-tied in his presence as I resort to picking up my pace and quickly shoving everything back into my box without a care.

“Hey!” Daniel reaches for my drawing before I can, taking a careful second to assess it. “Did you…draw this?” he asks.

I swallow, unsure of what to say. Instead, I nod faintly. I’m not naturally a shy person, yet I can’t help but feel so nervous around him. It’s a foreign feeling.

“ Wow .” There’s a bright smile on Daniel’s face as he gently places it back into my grasp. “You’re really good at drawing. Do you uh—think you could draw something for me maybe?”

His request alone is enough to make me feel butterflies—unleashing without a care—without an explanation.

“Really?” I ask, still dumbstruck. “You want me to…draw you something?” I kick the grass beneath my shoe before gazing back up at him.

“Yeah.” He nods confidently as he grasps the ball and tucks it underneath his arm. “Maybe a picture of me playing football? Does that sound okay?”

“Okay.” I nod, fixating on his round cheeks and gentle gaze. “But only if you draw me something in return,” I propose. “Deal?”

“Deal.” Daniel smiles before he looks back over his shoulder. “Well, I better get back,” he tells me, gesturing toward the group who are impatiently waiting for the ball, heckling him from a distance. “But hey, before I go, I just want you to know that I’m sorry again. Not just about knocking your stuff over, but for interrupting your introduction earlier. I really didn’t mean to throw you off track.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” I anxiously clutch the box in my grasp, attempting to flash him a reassuring smile as I tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Thank you for apologizing though. I appreciate it.”

“You got it.” He nods, stepping back.

“Wait…Daniel?” I stop him.

He turns on his heel. “Yeah?”

“Usually football players have their last name on the back of their shirts. What’s uh—yours?”

He smiles before looking up in thought and staring back over. “Mix together yellow and blue and then you’ll make…”

Green.

Daniel Green.

I pinch the inside of my cheek between my teeth, an idea propelling my mind. “How does Greenie sound instead?”

He starts to laugh. “Haze and Greenie, huh?” He pairs our nicknames together. “I think I quite like that.”

I watch as Green drops the ball to his feet and kicks it off ahead, running after it almost immediately, leaving me in a trance-like state as I peer back down at my drawing and the charming prince it’s missing.

“I like it too.” I reach back for my colors. “I like it too.”