Page 11 of The Prospect

“Go on,” she instructs, gesturing for me to continue, knowing there’s more.

There’s always more.

“Well, after that Coach was riding my tail. He was saying I was in my head, which…” I look into her always intentful and watchful brown eyes, “was true.I was. I was completely off my game today.”

“But why?” she asks, tilting her head in confusion. “You’re never off your game,Greenie.” Her voice is as delicate as my nickname falling from her lips.

Greenie.

The truth is, the nickname is a little embarrassing. I’d never dream of lettinganyoneelse call me that but her, but who am I kidding? I’m a sucker when it comes to Hazel Collins. Always have been, always will be.

I release a long-drawn-out breath, using the menu to sink both my head and nerves into it before Hazel pulls it away and tucks it into her side.

“Waiting.” She flashes an impatient stare, reminding me I’m not going to get away with hiding my emotions so easily. Unlike Wilks, nothing gets past Hazel. Sure, I consider both to be my best friends, but when it comes to Hazel, she’s got this radar. She always knows when something is up with me. She always has.

“It’s just…I’m tired of being single,” I finally own up to the secret I’ve been trying to suppress. “I mean, being single…it sucks. Everywhere I turn, I feel like I’m surrounded by people who are in love. At first, it was Coach and Delaney, and at least back then, I had Wilks to bitch about being single too, but now, he’s got Chelsie.” I slump my shoulders, my head falling back against the cold leather of the booth. “And it’s not that I’m jealous, Haze, I’m not! I’m happy that they’re all in love. Trust me, I am.” I sit back up, using my hands to speak. “It’s just…” I slouch again. “Been a while since I’ve been with someone and I don’t know…maybe I’ve been in a slump wondering why relationships don’t come naturally to me. Like take Hart, for example,” I tell her. “He has no problem getting laid, but me? I overthink it every time I get close and because of that, it’s been months since I brought a girl home, Haze.Months. How pathetic is that?”

The way this topic of conversation has diverted from annoyance to sadness to now downright sexless makes Hazel awkwardly shift in her chair and rub along her arms in comfort.

Usually, we avoid subject matters such as these. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just an unspoken rule between us, but frankly,I’m tired of holding back. I need someone to rant to, but seeing Hazel so tense and so unsure, it immediately makes me want to scrap my mention of it altogether.

Shit.

“You alright, Haze?” I ask, stretching my arm out across the table, briefly swiping my fingertips along her skin that pokes free from her blouse.

She pulls back.

She never pulls back.

“Hey…” I reach for her once more, wishing there wasn’t a table dividing us so I could scoot in closer to her.Comfort her. “I’m sorry, Hazel. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“You didn’t,” she immediately refutes the thought, yet refuses to make eye contact with me.

“Then what’s up with that sad face?” I’m left searching. “Tell me what’s wrong,bug?”

“‘Bug?’” She looks up from her lap, creases forming around her eyes as she laughs. “That’s new.”

“I know,” I scoff, unexpecting that was what I was going to call her until it was too late. “It just felt…right. Why?” I ask, curious to know her take on it. “Did you like it?” I joke.

“I didn’t hate it.” Her cheeks flush into a rosy shade of pink. I’m getting mixed signals. “But maybe just stick to Haze. I prefer Haze,” she tells me.

Deep down, I do too.

I’ve always preferred Haze over anything else.

“Fine then.” I decide to completely disband my side of the booth and push into hers instead, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulder before pulling her in tight. “Then tell me,Haze.” I draw out her nickname. “What’s up? Why are you so suddenly sad too?”

She frowns, staring back down at the ground. “It’s nothing.” She settles within my arms, ambient chatter filling the void, butall I can hear is Wilks in my ear shouting,“It’s not nothing! Don’t fall for this trap, Green. Ask her what’s really wrong!”

Thanks for the word of advice, imaginary Wilks, though, even without you, I would've already known not to fall for her pitiful excuse.

Hazel’s my best friend. I’ve known her for so long that I can’t remember a time that I haven’t. The truth is, I never expected that a friendship would blossom between the two of us, nor did I imagine that after our conversation the day we first met, she'd actually follow through on my request, find me the next day and hand deliver a drawing of me—for me.

It was perfect. It was just what I’d asked for.

A simple picture of me, in a football jersey, kicking the ball into the net with the name “Greenie” plastered along the back. I couldn’t believe Hazel had drawn it. Hell, I still can’t every time I look over at the picture as it hangs in my station.

Over the span of fifteen years of friendship, Hazel has drawn me hundreds upon hundreds of things, insisting that her other pieces of art are a million times better than her work at seven years old and that if anything should be hanging up, it should be something new.

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