Page 7 of The Prospect

“I have a girlfriend now, Green,” he tells me as if we all don’t already know. “Don’t you know that I know that ‘fine’ just means that you’re really not fine?”

I stand up, throwing my jersey off in the process and fling it into my bag. “So, you get a girlfriend and suddenly you become an expert on feelings?” I wonder.

He shakes his head. “I’ve become an expert on knowing that falling for ‘fine’ is never ‘fine.’ Besides, you’re my best friend, Green. I know when something is up. So spill, what’s bothering you, mate?”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” I lie, refusing to go into depth on the reality behind my thoughts. “I’m just…tired. That’s all.”

His head falls into his hands. “Gosh, don’t even get me started on ‘tired,’ Green. That’s almost as bad as ‘fine.’ Tired means you’re not actually ‘tired,’ but you’re internally feeling?—”

“Enough!” I cut him off. “I’m okay,seriously. Is that a good enough word for you, or is that just another subliminal hint too?”

“‘Okay’ is borderline ‘fine’ territory?—”

“Christ, Wilks!” I stop what I’m doing. “Stop worrying about me. I appreciate the concern, mate, but don’t you have a date to get to? You don’t wanna be late, now, do you?”

Wilks chews on the inside of his cheek. I know he doesn’t believe anything I’m saying, but I also know how to easily get him off my case: simply remind him he has somewhere to be and can’t be late. It always manages to light a fire up his ass.

“You know what,fine,” he uses the word against me as he raises his hands in defeat, “but this isn’t over. I’ll find a way to annoy you enough until I get whatever it is that’s bugging you. You hear me?”

“Wow, Gary Wilkinson being annoying…” I pack up my bag. “Nothing new there,” I laugh, jokingly, when in all seriousness, Wilks always has a way of making anyone smile when they're feeling down, and if I was really struggling, I’d open up, but for now, I need to be alone with my own thoughts.

“You know I love being consistent, but Green?” He commands my attention before heading toward the showers. “Maybe you should go out tonight,” he suggests. “You know, have some fun? Perhaps it’ll brighten your spirits?”

I scoff at his suggestion. “Go out? With who?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, but you should. As your best mate I’m demanding you have an old-school Wilks night out. You hear me? I want a full report on Monday!”

I roll my eyes. “You got it, boss.” I laugh as he curves around the corner and falls out of sight, though I can't seem to shake the fact that he’s probably right. I should go out. It’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere remotely fun, but even then, the question remains. With Wilks gone and Hart already on my last nerve, who do I go out with?

I run a thoughtful hand along my forehead, brushing away at a bead of sweat until my attention is diverted toward a drawing. One I've hung up in my station since the very first day I officially joined Crawfield, drawn by the girl who made the life I live a reality.

Hazel.

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.

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