Page 86 of The Prospect

It was an impossible task, and without a single indicator of what to do or what to get, I started to scour through my mind—my archive of memories with Hazel Collins over the years and that’s when it hit me.

The promise I’d made on the very day we met—the picture she'd requested and the visual that continued to haunt my mind until finally, I managed to put it onto paper.

“Thanks.” Hazel's voice is as soft as Amira clutches onto my arm as we watch her rustle over the paper.

I never told Amira what I ended up doing for Hazel. The only person I’d actually confessed to about that was Wilks, who, seemingly, told Chelsie. I’m not mad. Time and time again tonight, Chelsie has managed to contain his eager spirit.

I’ll have to thank her later.

I gulp as Hazel releases the tape along either side of the frame. Hold my breath as she peels the paperback and just about wallow in a fit of anxiety when she turns the frame around tounveil the promise that, after all these years, I’ve finally followed through on.

Laid out in her dainty hands is a picture, one that I’d spent hours upon hours meticulously working on to illustrate the best day of my life.

The day I met her.

I’m no artist. I’d surmised that long ago, but as I put my heart and soul into each and every detail of the classroom: the walls, the desks, the bright lights above the girl who changed my world from that first hello, I wanted to be one.

I wanted to capture her perfectly. Her smile, her

joy, every emotion that she’s ever made me feel. I wanted this picture to be worthy of the fifteen-year wait it took for her to get.

“You remembered?” There’s a twinkle in Hazel's eyes as she looks up at me, pulling the drawing toward her chest in the same way I wish I could pull her into my arms.

I softly smile back at her. “I never forgot.”

Deep down in my heart, I know that the drawing in her hands isn’t museum-worthy, it’s not even fridge-worthy to me, but to Hazel, seeing the way the twinkle in her eyes is soon replaced with a glimmer of moisture tells me that it’s everything.

Everything and more.

By now, everyone is impatiently attempting to sneak a peek at the drawing. Hart being the first as he peers over her shoulder, though, before he can catch a glimpse, Hazel clutches the drawing back against her chest and forces it out of view.

“You’re not going to show us?” Hart asks.

“Please, Hazel!” Wilks joins in before she can respond. “We want to see Daniel Pisaccso’s masterpiece. After all, he usedmylittle sister's colors to do it.”

“I…” Hazel hesitates, eyes shifting between the curious stares before she settles back into mine. “I want to keep it between us…if that’s okay?”

“That’s more than okay!” Chelsie rushes to reassure her. “It’syourbirthday, Hazel,” she continues with a reassuring nod. “You get to call the shots.”

As she continues to clutch a hold of either side of the frame, I watch as a sense of ease washes over Hazel’s body. Hart’s laptop is now visibly out of sight and likely out of mind as Hazel continues to dance her hand along the glass.

It’s always fascinated me just how deeply she falls into the magic of an illustration. I’m confident she could spend hours upon hours lost in the details of a portrait, a concept I never quite understood until now.

Now that I watch her intricately assess the details of my work, it starts to make sense how people can get so easily lost in art because that’s Hazel.

Art.

“You, uh…drew something for her?” Amira’s voice is enough to remind me that I’ve been gazing over at Hazel for far too long, a formidable action that Hart has now become privy to as he flashes me a glare.

“Um, yeah.” I clear my throat to snap myself out of it.

Amira arrived late to the party, and as soon as she waltzed in, she found refuge on my lap.

It’s been this way ever since.

“It was uh—an inside thing, so to speak, just between the two of us,” I drop my voice as I explain. “You know, something onlyHazel and Iwould understand…”

I can’t help but feel my eyes draw me away from Amira as I’m compelled to look back at Hazel, who has been waiting for me to look back over so she can mouth the words “thank you.”

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