The Prospect (Crawfield Football Club #3)

3. H A Z E L

THREE

H A Z E L

“So let me get this right.” My roommate, Amira, stands at the foot of my bed with her arms crossed and a blatant pout of her lips. “You’re going to spend a Friday night, in your room, stu…stu…” She theatrically chokes on the obvious word because first, she’s a drama major, and second, in the years we’ve been living together I’ve never seen her once doing exactly what I’m doing right now.

“ Studying ,” I finish her sentence for her with a playful roll of my eyes. “Yes, Amira. I am.”

“Hazel, you’re a visual arts major for crying out loud. What on earth could you be studying?” Amira plops herself onto the bed in an attempt to sneak a peek at the textbook I’m nose-deep into.

I gesture my book in her direction so she can give it a glance. “The detrimental impacts of artificial intelligence and how it’s impacting modern-day illustrators. Fun, right?” I look up at her.

Amira cocks a brow, scrutinizing the pages with her eyes before she flashes me a blank stare. “Is this for a test?” she wonders. “I didn’t even know you were taking a class like that!”

“I’m not.” I shrug, redirecting my attention right back to chapter six— job displacement . “It’s for my own personal knowledge.”

“ Yawn .” Amira lays back, her long dark hair sprawled out across the sheets as she places her hands over her face. “You’re killing me, Hazel,” she groans, tugging down on her skin. “Don’t you do anything fun?”

I gesture toward my bookshelf, one of my most prized possessions. It’s where I’ve not only proudly collected every in-famous romance film and novel of all time, but I’ve organized them by color, by date, by least to most favorite. I’ve had a lot of spare time on my hands these days, and what I can say is that things like that soothe my mind.

But if there’s one thing I love just as much, if not more than art, it’s romance. In fact, each year I make it my priority to not only re-read all of the novels on my shelf but to also re-watch all the films.

I think it’s called therapeutic nostalgia, but for me, it’s my safe haven. Usually, my obsession carries me out until the rest of the year, but this time around I’ve been ahead of schedule. Now it’s November, and I have nothing else to watch or read, because of that, I've decided to take on the task of exploring deeper topics, things that are also of interest to me, and today, that means learning more about AI.

Sue me.

“Listen, Hazel. I get it, you love to learn.” Amira stands back up, placing both of her hands on her hips. “But how about instead of studying this, you study how hot the guys are on campus instead? You know, fall in love with real men instead of fictional ones for once. What do you say?”

I pause, taking a second to process her generous offer before I stare her deep into her eyes. “I say I’ve yet to meet a real-life man that has ever topped a fictional one.”

Amira throws her hands into the air. “That’s it!” She storms across the room and reaches for her bag. “I’m done. You want to stay in, go right ahead, but I'm going out!”

I’m completely unphased by Amira’s outburst. It’s routine for us. I think she still struggles to comprehend how we’re so different, when the reality is, we just are.

Amira likes to go out and be the life of the party, and me? Well, I like to read about it.

Both she and I have different depictions of what a “fun night” looks like and that’s okay. I think I’ve come to accept she’s the main character between the two of us, leaving me as the quirky, home-bodied friend.

To this day I’m left wondering how the two of us got paired as roommates. Don’t they usually tend to pair you up with someone that you have things in common with? Though, I can only imagine the housing office that paired us together saw the fact that we’re both majoring in art and thought: visual arts, meet dramatic arts, you’ll match perfectly!

Wrong.

We’re far from one and the same, but frankly, I think our differences have helped to bring out a different side to the two of us. Over the years, Amira has made me more confident, outgoing and willing to try new things, and in turn, I’ve enlightened her on the magic that comes from hunkering down and studying for a test. All the while educating her on some of the best love stories of all time. Every year she joins me in my re-watch of The Notebook. I mean, Ryan Gosling?

Duh.

“Have fun.” I sigh, resting my head back against my headboard as the door to our room slams shut, taking both Amira and her stomping heels away.

She’ll get over it.

She always does.

Deep down, I hate the fact I’m the boring roommate who always stays behind. It’s a terrible representation of who I am. I’m a fun person, I am.

Shit, does having to assure someone you're a fun person mean that you’re really not?

I don’t know.

All I know is I want to take every final moment I’ve got left in art school seriously. I want to remember these boring nights. I want to remember how much I hated this dorm room at first but was able to make it become my sanctuary because one day, I’ll look back and wish I was here, basking in the simplicity.

That’s what we hold onto in life. The little things, the finite details that we can often overlook. That’s why I love romance so much. That’s why I love art. It’s the reason why the two dominate my life. They’re a pairing.

Love is an art.

Art can depict love.

They’re synonymous.

Art school was the only logical choice when it came to what I was going to do in my life, and when the time came to decide on which school I was going to attend, the only realistic option was to stay near to home—stay in Crawley.

Since the age of seven, Crawley has remained my home. It’s been the longest I’ve ever stayed anywhere in my entire life and I’ve been so thankful.

I needed stability, consistency, and when I finally got those two things, I got something even more special as well— friendship .

As you’d expect, naturally people have come and gone in my life over time, but one person since that first day of year three has remained true— Daniel Green , aka Greenie , aka my best friend .

Green was the one who encouraged that I’d take the leap for art school. We’ve always had a tendency to do that for one another—sign each other up for things we both are too scared to do.

So, when I registered him to try out for Crawfield Football Club without his permission, he submitted an application on my behalf for a local uni not too far away from the town.

In the end, things worked out for both of us. Green got recruited for Crawfield and I’ve been here, studying my craft, honing in on my passion, and working my way toward being a full-time freelance artist.

But despite the varied paths the two of us have taken in life, we’ve always been on the same road together. That’s what’s special about having a true friend…a true love for someone; nothing, no matter what, can ever come in the way of that.

As if we’re telepathic, as my mind starts to wander to Green, he calls me, and every time I see his name pop up on my screen, I can’t help but suppress the butterflies in my stomach, ones I know I shouldn’t feel but have no control over.

“Practice over?” I ask as soon as I pick up the call, practically knowing his schedule to a tee.

“Yep, just leaving the stadium now.” I hear him open up his car door before closing it shut. “What are you up to?” he asks.

“You know, thinking, reading, staring at the walls. Don’t you know my Friday night routine by now?” I joke.

“ How exciting ,” he sarcastically remarks. “Care for some company?”

My heart skips a beat, and I have to swallow to resolve this sudden dryness in my throat. “Company?” My voice comes out as a squeal at first, but I cough to mask it. “You uh—want to come over?” I ask in disbelief.

“You’re right...” As if Green can hear the doubt in my voice, he scoffs at the idea. “Forget it, that sounds boring. Let’s just go somewhere. You and me . I need a night out.”

“Long day?” I turn on my side, immediately throwing my textbook away—there’s nothing I love more than studying the way everything Green says is just a subtle hint of his real intentions.

I need details.

“You could say that.” I hear him ignite his engine. “So, what do you say? I’ll pick you up now. Are you up for going out?”

I’m sitting up from my bed and racing toward my drawers before I can even answer—I guess it’s not a matter of I don’t want to go out. It’s a matter of who’s inviting me to.

Sorry, Amira.

“See you in fifteen?” I guess his eta.

“Ten,” he corrects. “I’m driving fast. I really want to see you.”

This time my heart doesn’t even skip a beat, it just stops beating altogether.

Did he really just say that?

“ Haze ? Are you still there?” he calls out when I’m silent.

“Sorry.” I shake my head, embarrassed by how flushed my cheeks are in the mirror, prompting me to place the backside of my palm against them to calm it. “I’m here. I just got…” Lost in your voice . “Distracted.” I settle on instead. “Ten minutes sounds good. I’ll uh—see you soon.”

I end the call, this time reaching for Amira’s dresser instead of my own to find something that isn’t an oversized dress T-shirt or pajama top. I settle when I find a cute blouse and throw it on over my head. Amira has always had better taste in fashion than me and unlucky for her, we’re the same size.

For a while, I’m left admiring my reflection in the mirror as a spiral of questions cloud the logistics of my mind.

Will Green like it?

Is it enough?

Is it too much?

How come he wants to go out?

Was he thinking of me?

Is this what I think it is?

Is this a…date?

I turn away from the mirror. I have to. I can no longer look at my reflection because when I do, all I see is delusion. For fifteen years, I’ve been doing this, playing an endless game against my mind and my heart.

My mind always wins, reminding me that Green and I are friends, that’s all we’ve ever been, all we ever will be.

I once read online that if you tell yourself something enough, somewhere along the way, you’re bound to start believing it. I just wish my heart was so open to receive that message, instead it’s the same pattern anytime he calls. This response I don't know if I'll ever be able to break myself free from—the fact that anytime Green says jump, my body says how high?

What can I say? He’s been a constant. We’ve grown up together and yes, I’ll confess, he was my first crush. First love, even if I wasn’t his.

They say your first love will stay with you the longest and in turn, only makes your heart grow fonder. It becomes the baseline that shapes everything you do and pulls you back in any time you pull away.

Your first love has the power to make you feel unknowing things, think bewildered thoughts.

That’s all this is, right?

Unknowing feelings?

Bewildered thoughts?

I can’t possibly have feelings for Green when we’ve never been anything other than friends.

That’s ludicrous.

Preposterous.

Downright insanity?—

I’m here.

His simple text alone is enough to make me drop every thought, forcefully shove my feet into my shoes, and shuffle toward the door. By now, I'm racing down the staircase and toward his car before I even realize it.

“ Hey !” There’s that familiar smile I see on his face as he leans over the center console and pushes to open my door.

“Hey.” I sink myself into the passenger side before reaching for my seatbelt and securing it in place.

“New top?” He tilts his head to the side, reaching for the fabric of my sleeve as he gently caresses it between his grasp.

Only a friend would notice a new top, right?

“Yep,” I lie, unwilling to tell him it’s Amira’s and not mine. “You uh—like it?”

“ Love it .” He kisses my cheek before shifting the gear into drive. “Almost as much as I love…”

My eyes go wide— expectant.

“Having you to talk to.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek. I don’t know what I was just expecting him to say, but under no circumstance should I feel sad that was his response.

Enough of this.

“That’s what friends are for, right ?” I look up at him through my lashes, though there’s a pain that pangs in my chest as I say the word out loud.

Friends.

That’s all we’ll ever be.