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PJ Waters has always been a jealous asshole.
And she wasn’t ashamed of it.
Alright, maybe she was a little bit, but that didn’t matter. She would don her self-inflicted title with a fuck-ton of bravado and something else that she decided to dub ‘self-acceptance’. That was close enough.
In the second grade, she and Josie had been sitting together at a low plastic table. PJ noticed how the other kids started drifting into groups at the end of first grade, and now, there was a clear divide.
That was fine; they had each other.
PJ opened her pink lunchbox on the table. It was scratched to hell, the plastic dulled and scuffed from being hurled around so often. Sometimes it was on purpose - mid tantrum, mid-rant, mid… whatever the fuck PJ was getting herself into at the time - but mostly, it was just that PJ spoke with her whole body, and her belongings often became collateral damage.
Inside was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, apple slices, string cheese and an off-brand Capri-Sun. PJ smiled.
PJ turned over to Josie, just about to speak, when she saw someone approaching them from the corner of her eye.
A girl wearing a white floral dress with her hair in two perfectly tied braids.
Hazel Callahan.
PJ saw Hazel’s mom drop her off, repeatedly sending her to school in ridiculous, pastel dresses, then scolding her when the dress inevitably came home stained or dirty. PJ had seen Hazel Callahan come to school with pink ribbons tied into her hair, which she had pulled out the moment her mom’s car drove out of sight, as if she couldn’t tear them off fast enough.
She was wearing sneakers that seemed normal at first glance but had a large Gucci logo down the side. The sneakers were a compromise. Hazel’s parents only started letting her wear them after she threw a tantrum over the stupidly fancy shoes they used to make her wear.
PJ remembered Hazel refusing to get out of the car, her mom kneeling next to the open car door. At first, it was crying, but it quickly and suddenly escalated into screaming. Full-body, bloodcurdling screaming. She was slamming her head into the car seat in front of her, scratching herself as if she were trying to crawl out of her skin. Every time her mom bent down to talk to her, she’d just scream louder and cover her ears. At some point, she had thrown one of the shoes across the pavement, ripping it off like it was on fire.
It was hard to watch. It was like it was her breaking point of sorts. Less like a spoiled-rich-kid tantrum and more like her body was short-circuiting.
Or maybe Hazel was just a good actress. Either way, it got the point across, and from then on, she wore sneakers. Wildly expensive sneakers.
PJ remembers the face her mom made when she pointed at the same sneakers in the mall during their fortnightly grocery run. She remembers how her mom scowled when PJ told her a girl came to school wearing them every day.
PJ wasn’t sure when Hazel started sitting with them; it was like one day she just appeared on the other side of their table and never left.
She was nice. She was polite, pretty and smart.
But she was also a massive fucking weirdo.
Always talking about robots, coding, LEGO and space. And God-forbid you brought it up in conversation with her, she’d just keep talking and rambling. Her words flowed out so fast that they would all get caught in a traffic jam within her mouth; it was almost impossible to tell what she was saying. She was the girl who would correct the teacher during class, butting in without raising her hand.
It was cute. Kind of. More annoying, PJ decided.
Hazel came over and sat across from them. Wordlessly pulling out her own lunchbox.
Legs swinging, Hazel popped open the lid of her lunch.
Inside was a glass container of salmon tartare, a wedge of brie accompanied by an assortment of deli meats and crackers wrapped in parchment paper. There were slices of blood oranges and seedless lychees. There was a small spoon tucked into the side, like it was normal and not completely derranged.
PJ stared at it. Who gives a seven-year-old salmon tartare?
What kind of seven-year-old would want that?
…
PJ did.
PJ wanted it badly.
Hazel stared at it too, her mouth tightening. After a moment of quietly chewing at her bottom lip, she looked over at Josie and PJ’s food.
PJ felt a rush of embarrassment. She shouldn’t be; she liked her food, but something about her own lunch compared to Hazel’s made her want to shrivel up and disappear. Especially when Hazel seemed to be looking at it so critically, her brow furrowed.
She stopped for a moment before speaking, “Do you wanna switch?”
Hazel was weird.
Her voice was quiet, almost clipped. She spoke as if she were afraid. Hazel’s eyes darted back and forth between Josie and PJ. Although PJ could’ve sworn Hazel lingered slightly longer on her.
Josie shook her head and turned down the offer nicely.
All of PJ’s pride told her to do the same, but the words that came out of her mouth were the exact opposite, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it.
“...Okay”
Hazel quickly switched their lunchboxes around and smiled. She was missing one of her two front teeth.
She was pretty.
PJ noticed how Hazel’s bangs framed her eyes. Her striking blue eyes. It felt like Hazel was stabbing PJ through the heart with her stare.
Taking a bite out of Hazel’s lunch, PJ was distracted by Hazel’s face - Hazel’s smile. Her stupidly cute gap-toothed smile. Her heart inexplicably thudding hard against her ribs, PJ looked away. She couldn’t repress the weird feelings bubbling inside her chest, so she made a decision, once and for all.
PJ was jealous of Hazel Callahan.
PJ hated Hazel Callahan.
That's what that feeling was.
The classroom buzzed with the panicked hum of middle-schoolers frantically looking over their notes one last time before the teacher walked in with their exam.
PJ sat at her desk, looking at the page in her math book that she had asked Josie to fill with all the formulas she would need during the test during the previous class period. She cradled her head in her hands, feeling a headache boiling inside her forehead just from staring at the paper. None of it made any sense to her, and she couldn’t even bring herself to pretend she would remember any of them in ten minutes.
The worst thing is, PJ actually studied this time. Not just the night before, although she had done a lot of late-night cramming last night, but in the week leading up to the test. All her attempts ended up being futile as she fought back tears over her impending doom.
It was like math was a completely different language. Something only a nerd like Hazel Callahan could understand.
She glanced sideways at Hazel’s desk.
Hazel had everything colour-coded. Stupid calligraphy headings on every single page in her notebook. Her notes looked more like a museum exhibit than math notes. She had her headphones on, in her own little bubble, and she was mouthing something under her breath - maybe formulas, maybe Boygenius lyrics. Knowing Hazel, it could be literally anything. It was probably the math formulas as songs. She remembered Hazel trying to show them to her, maybe PJ should have let her. Maybe PJ would’ve understood at least one of the concepts.
PJ hated her.
Hazel’s over-engineered, Japanese stationery was lined up like the tools in surgery rooms. Right next to the pencil case, she custom ordered from Etsy. She had her highlighters in rainbow order next to three different black pens, just in case. She even had a sharpener next to her pencil. Who the fuck owns sharpeners?
PJ looked down at her desk and realised maybe she should go digging for a pencil before the exam started, to make sure she had one.
PJ had left her pencil case at home, meaning she stole a pen from Josie last period when she wasn’t looking, placing that on her desk. She began rummaging through her bag, hoping the equipment would magically appear.
She managed to conjure up half an eraser and an old pencil. Good enough.
PJ lined up what little she had to maintain any semblance of composure and went straight back to looking at Hazel, who had just closed her eyes like she was meditating. Maybe mentally discussing the content with Pythagoras himself on the astral plane, or just marinating in the knowledge of her superiority.
Hazel opened her eyes, catching PJ red-handed mid-stare.
She smiled softly. Sweet and oblivious.
That stupid fucking smile.
PJ darted her gaze back down towards her own paper, trying to maybe apply one of the formulas to something in a last effort to memorise it. She wondered if it was possible to get them to stick by bashing her head into the paper.
PJ flattened out the corner of her page, bumping into Josie’s pen and watching as it slowly started rolling towards the edge of the table.
She reached over to stop it and nearly jumped out of her skin.
Hazel was kneeling directly in front of her desk.
“Mr. Anderson said we needed a ruler for the test,” she said, placing a metal ruler on PJ’s table before walking away with her nerdy smile plastered across her face like a badge of honour.
PJ looked over at Hazel’s elaborate stationery setup. The fucking loser had two rulers.
Stupid Hazel and her stupid fucking preparation.
PJ muttered a half-hearted “thanks”, that she was seventy per cent sure Hazel couldn’t hear and forced a smile back in Hazel’s direction.
Of course, Hazel understood this. She always did. Hazel always understood everything. The teacher could cough out a half-explained concept once, and she was always at the front of the class nodding along like it made sense to her, because it did!
Hazel’s grades were an urban legend, always full marks or close enough to it that it didn’t matter.
PJ would have to rewatch the same YouTube videos five times over and still had to tack on a ‘for kids’ at the end of her Google search like an idiot.
It wasn’t fair.
Mr. Anderson walked in with a stack of papers in his hand, and the class started putting their notes back into their bags.
As PJ shovelled her book into her backpack, her mind wandered.
Maybe Hazel was just born smart. Maybe PJ was just born fucking stupid.
As the test was placed in front of her and she flipped to the first question, PJ was almost sure her theory was correct, because what the fuck was this?
She looked at Hazel out of the corner of her eyes, straining them as she kept her head firmly facing down, letting her loose strands of hair cover where she was looking. She may have been stupid, but she was not going to get busted for cheating. Especially when Hazel was too far away to cheat off of! She wasn’t getting in trouble for something she wasn’t doing.
Hazel’s face was scrunched in focus, her pen moving rapidly as she sat with perfect posture. Her legs swung underneath her as if she were enjoying this. That weirdo probably was. She looked like a good student.
PJ sighed and started doodling a cat in the corner of her paper while she tried to think of how to solve the first equation. She was so fucked.
She managed to bullshit her way through about half of the exam, practically making up her own math to solve some of the questions. She had accepted her fate, slouching down into her chair, her arms folded.
Hazel raised her hand, she had a question.
PJ felt a glimmer of hope in her chest, maybe if the test was hard for Hazel too, then it was just hard in general, and PJ wasn’t completely screwed.
She watched as Hazel pointed to a spot on the exam and whispered to Mr. Anderson, who nodded slowly, putting on his reading glasses to inspect it further.
Mr. Anderson spoke up. Addressing the whole class, “For the last question, Hazel’s just pointed something out…” PJ felt her heart sink into her ass, “it should say x is equal to thirty and not zero point three. My apologies.”
Are you serious? Hazel couldn’t solve a question, automatically assumed it was a mistake in the test, and was right?
PJ almost laughed from the absurdity of it all.
Hazel was just that good.
PJ noticed the end of the exam ticking closer, and she was making absolutely no progress. Panicked, she started flipping through the pages back and forth, guessing where she had to, writing a vague attempt at the formulas for the possibility of partial points and trying her best to finish the ones she did get, which admittedly was hardly any.
She was sprinting to the finish line of a test she didn’t understand.
She hated Hazel.
Really hated her.
Her and her pretty highlighters, and her smart questions, and the way she tilts her head like a golden retriever when she’s thinking, and the way she-
Mr. Anderson called for pencils down. PJ stared at her unfinished test and swallowed hard.
She looked over at Hazel, sitting calmly, hands off her paper, casually scanning the room. Probably all after obsessively quadruple-checking every answer because she finished early.
Yeah, PJ was obviously just fucking stupid.
Hazel’s parents were going through a messy divorce.
PJ knew because Hazel kept getting pulled out of class, PJ’s mom kept asking about how Hazel was doing, and kept gossiping with Josie’s mother about it over red wine glasses.
They always got loud after their second glass, and their volume control would vanish.
That’s how PJ and Josie found themselves with their ears pressed up to the flimsy wood of Josie’s bedroom door.
Down the hall, they could hear the low buzz of trash television doing a horrible job at hiding the ongoing conversation.
“-that’s horrible!” PJ’s mom gasped, her voice a little too high and laughing a little too loud, “That’s so bad! Like really bad!”
PJ smirked against the door, mouthing an exaggerated duh at Josie, who just rolled her eyes in response.
Josie’s mother spoke up, “Yeah, and then the poor girl is just… getting shuffled around like a suitcase. One minute she’s with her dad, the next minute she’s with her mom… and every time they pass her back, it starts another screaming match.”
“It makes you feel bad for the girl, doesn’t it? She’s such a sweet kid…”
“Oh, definitely. And - between you and me - every time her mom doesn’t have her there’s a different car parked outside of their house at night, if you know what I mean.”
PJ felt her jaw drop. She exchanged a look with Josie, who mirrored her surprise. PJ had to fight herself to keep down the misplaced laughter threatening to bubble to the surface.
“I don’t think they’re even fighting for the kid to be honest.” PJ’s mom said, her voice more sombre.
“What do you mean by that?”
PJ heard the sound of the wine glass being placed on the table.
“They just don’t want the other one to win.”
Josie’s demeanour shifted as she inched away from the door and laid onto her bed. PJ followed her.
“That’s really fucked up,” Josie whispered, staring at the vent in her ceiling.
PJ laid next to her, fiddling with Josie’s neon bedsheets, “Yeah… but like…” PJ thought about it.
PJ imagined what it would be like to have people fighting over her at all. Hazel’s parents fought tooth and nail over her. PJ’s dad just left.
She thought about what it would be like if he cared. Even just a little bit.
“It’d be pretty nice to have everyone care. To have all that attention.” PJ said, the words barely escaping her lips.
Hazel was getting two extravagant birthday parties that year. Each parent trying their best to one-up each other. Showing who could spend more, who could love her more. PJ knew this since it was the only thing remotely related to Hazel’s parents that Hazel could talk about without completely shutting down.
PJ wasn’t even sure if she’d get a party. If she did, it’d be a half-assed affair, paid for by the leftovers of whatever crumbs her mom could scrape together from her business. And even then, PJ would probably tell her mom to just save the money for her brother. He was younger. He’d enjoy it more.
“It’s not nice, PJ. All the attention she gets is negative. She’s just stuck in the middle of her parents' fights.”
She wished her dad cared enough to stick around and fight.
“Josie…” PJ turned onto her side to face Josie, “Her dad gave her a brand-new phone last week. There was no occasion, her dad just gave her once because he felt bad!” She felt a knot forming in her throat as she said it.
Josie’s frown deepened. “They’re trying to buy her affection. That’s not nice at all?”
PJ tried her best to swallow down the bitterness rising in her chest. Her attempts were futile.
“I’d want that attention. Even if it’s super fucked.” PJ huffed.
PJ tried to imagine her dad sending her even just a souless, massproduced birthday card with a shitty gift voucher in it. He never did anything. She hadn’t heard from him since he left. A $20 Khol’s gift card sounded amazing.
PJ realised she couldn’t imagine his handwriting.
Had he ever written? Even once?
PJ realised it was getting harder to remember even just the sound of his voice.
“It’s not about the gifts, PJ.” Josie scooted closer, “It’s about the fact that they’re using her to get back at each other. You wouldn’t want that, would you? It’s not real.”
It’s more real than anything her dad had ever done.
Even if it was ugly, even if it had strings attached, even if it wasn’t real…
At least it was something.
“I’d settle for anything,” PJ said.
Josie went quiet, squinting at the ceiling as if she was beginning to understand something PJ didn’t.
It’s unfair that Hazel has this huge fucking sob-story. And all PJ got was a deadbeat dad who packed up and left the moment her brother was born.
Hazel didn’t know how good she had it.
PJ wanted to take it from her. To become her, almost.
PJ knew it was a bad thing to think, even to herself, but she couldn’t help it.
Lucky fucking bitch.
PJ was so fucking jealous.
If she had tits like Hazel, she would show them off.
Not that PJ had bad tits, she had worked so hard for them in middle school googling and obsessively doing every scam exercise possible to increase her breast size. PJ had decently large boobs that she was quite happy with thank you very much.
But Hazel had God-given tits.
A trip to the beach with Josie and Hazel. An innocent trip to the beach.
Josie was forcing them to hang out altogether anyway, so why not make the most of it?
They splashed around in the ocean with a childlike wonder, gaining a few judgmental stares from actual children nearby. Josie had to hold PJ back to keep her from threatening the poor five-year-olds.
PJ had quickly changed from her swimwear into regular clothing and sat at a bench adjacent to the changing stalls. Waiting for Josie and Hazel.
The aforementioned changing stalls were shitty. They were comprised of three flimsy walls, an even flimsier roof and ratty curtains that looked like they were five seconds away from completely disintegrating.
PJ momentarily stopped scrolling on her phone and looked up, shooting a glance in the direction of the changing stalls.
PJ discovered that the angle from where she was sitting gave her a perfect, accidental view of the small gap between the curtain and the wall, just enough to see behind it. It was like the universe had decided, for whatever reason, that PJ needed this view. That’s when she saw it.
Oh fuck.
She really should have looked away the moment she realised what she was looking at.
Who she was looking at.
But for some reason, PJ couldn’t tear her eyes away from the body in front of her.
Hazel stood unaware, her back to PJ as she placed her swim shorts to the side and began slowly peeling off her one-piece underneath.
PJ’s eyes landed between Hazel’s shoulder blades. A light sprinkle of freckles dusted across her shoulders like stars. She followed the soft curve of Hazel’s spine down to the small of her back, the gentle slope broadened slightly as it met the curve of her hips.
It wasn't the lean, straight figure PJ had always assumed was under Hazel’s oversized sweaters. (Not that PJ was regularly imagining Hazel, she doesn’t do that.) There was an alluring curve, a seductive softness in her hips.
Hazel shifted her weight, and PJ caught the subtle flex of her muscles.
When the fuck did Hazel get so… jacked?
There were defined, toned muscles in her back and legs. The solidness of her body made PJ’s mouth water slightly.
Hazel bent over, and PJ had no choice but to take in sight of Hazel’s rounded ass.
Her muscles tensed with the movement, flaunting the sculpted line of her glutes into her hamstrings. The definition in her ass and legs was so sharp… so pronounced. Like an anatomy textbook in health class had come to life…
But way hotter.
So fucking unfair.
She shouldn’t be staring, but God, how could she not?
Hazel’s perfect athletic build was on display for her, and if she wasn’t meant to see it, God shouldn’t have put her in the ideal position to watch it.
Hazel was blessed with the hottest fucking body she had ever seen, and all she wore were baggy polo shirts and cargo shorts. If Hazel dressed herself better, she could have had droves of people drooling over her at any given moment.
The attractiveness of Hazel’s pre-pubescent boy attire only worked for PJ because PJ was a massive lesbian horndog. She isn’t even that hot. Like, PJ’s not into her like that.
She’s just engaging in a purely objective, scientific observation of the breadth of Hazel’s shoulders and the thick, solidness of her thighs. It wasn’t hot. Not at all.
If PJ had a body like that, which she totally could if she wanted to put in the effort, she would use it as one of her greatest assets. All the time. Girls would be lining up. She wouldn’t be stuck on the sidelines, a loser nerd obsessing over bombs and sad-lesbian indie music. Such a waste of a figure, giving it to Hazel who doesn’t give a fuck. Her nonchalance kind of pissed PJ off.
PJ watched on, noticing how the sunlight bleeding through the gaps in the curtain played in the soft, golden peach fuzz on Hazel’s lower back. And how strong Hazel’s shoulders looked when she wasn’t swallowed in some vintage cardigan. And how her ass-
Fuck she’s turning around.
PJ diverted her eyes as quickly as possible. Yet she slowly felt her gaze being magnetised back up to the gap.
Shit.
Call PJ a horny perverted weirdo any other time and she would have defended herself fiercely. Now though?
Yeah. She’s a fucking creep.
PJ got an eyeful of tits and felt her face heating up rapidly, a blush creeping up on her neck. And oh my God, are those abs? When the fuck did Hazel Callahan have abs? Defined lines tracing across Hazel’s stomach. PJ couldn’t bring herself to look at Hazel’s face. She knew that if she did, the reality of just how disgusting she was being would fall from the sky and crush her. PJ let herself live in denial for a bit longer.
Hazel pulled a black sports bra over her chest, her arms flexing as she moved. PJ’s eyes (traitorous little-shits) continued their downward journey to…
Holy fucking shit.
Yeah, that was enough. PJ yanked her eyes away and glued them to her phone. She shook her head, panicked, as if it would erase the images from her mind. As if she could manifest the sky to open up and start pouring holy water from the heavens, blessed by God himself, to absolve her of her lustful sins.
PJ was no better than a man.
This crossed all boundaries; it crossed basic human decency, even. She really should have stopped looking way earlier than she did.
Fuck.
She sighed, admitting to herself that she would have to rub one out the moment she got home.
This was Hazel for fucks-sake! There must be something deeply wrong with PJ.
But honestly, who’s surprised by that revelation?
PJ was a genius.
She managed to scheme so deviously that her plan actually worked; they had actually done it.
Formed a fucking fight club. The hottest girls in school were a part of their club, they’d get to rub up against, roll around in and inhale the sacred smell of cheerleader sweat. PJ was in lesbian heaven. This wasn’t just a victory, it was a masterpiece.
The fight club was a brilliant idea, the perfect excuse for excessive physical contact with Brittany.
PJ had managed to finesse things so that she would get to go up against Brittany. There was just one match left before her fight, so PJ stood in the circle, waiting for the next people to step forward.
Hazel stepped into the ring with Stella-Rebecca.
This would be a fast round. Despite PJ having no confidence in Hazel’s abilities to throw a punch, she had even less confidence in Stella-Rebecca. And Hazel was ripped. Surely she’d have enough power to throw a few shitty punches and scrape a win.
What PJ didn’t expect was for Stella-Rebecca to put up a fight, like she was waiting her whole life to commit legal battery. She finished tying her hair up, and almost simultaneously with Mr. G’s whistle-blow, slapped Hazel across the face with her absurdly long natural nails.
The sound echoed through the gym like a whip, her palm made clean contact with Hazel’s face, and that had to have hurt like a bitch. Stella’s nails snagged a part of Hazel’s flesh, a sharp scratch running across Hazel’s cheek.
Hazel didn’t even flinch; she just wiped the cut with the back of her hand, smearing crimson across her cheekbone like war paint. Then, blinked calmly.
And then Hazel moved.
The second thing PJ didn’t expect was for Hazel Callahan to magically become John Cena.
Stella-Rebecca lunged again, leading heel-first like she was in a drunken bar fight.
Hazel managed to sweep Stella’s stagnant leg, sending her tumbling down to the floor. Quick and surgical.
Not violent, not messy. It was precise and calculated. Elegant almost. There was clapping amongst the girls, and PJ barely registered her own hands moving too.
Stella tried to drag Hazel down along with her, but Hazel expertly spun out of the way, controlled and graceful, practically dancing.
Stella got up, landing a harsh punch to Hazel’s shoulder, the kind of blind, desperate, pure power PJ expected from Hazel at the beginning of the match. The force Stella-Rebecca used in the punch made her whole body follow through, and Hazel used Stella’s momentum to grab her waist.
And flipped her.
Full-body. Over the shoulder. Onto the floor.
Gasps erupted from the crowd, and PJ just gaped at the sight before her. Her mouth was open, she was vaguely aware of that. She had to remind herself to breathe.
Hazel’s back arched mid-throw in a way that didn’t look so great. As Stella hit the floor, she grimaced, stumbling slightly as she felt the effect of whatever the fuck she just did to her back.
Hazel pivoted, getting on top of Stella in one smooth motion, pinning her to her back. Her movements were heavier but still incredibly deliberate. PJ could see how she avoided twisting her torso and the growing wince on her face, yet still managed to push through and fight.
PJ’s heart was hammering with the strength of a stampede.
For the record, she was not attracted to Hazel Callahan.
This was pure admiration for her skill. Respect for the craft. Athletic appreciation, completely scientific, factual observations. Nothing more. She was definitely not hot.
PJ was definitely not noticing Hazel’s arms as she pinned Stella to the ground.
Definitely not.
Not at all.
PJ felt something worse than nausea simmering in her throat. Feelings.
She refused to identify them, clearly another bout of jealousy rising from her bones.
That was it.
Hazel helped Stella up gently, shaking her hand and thanking her for a good fight. She asked if Stella was alright, like the infuriatingly considerate person she was.
She stood with her hands clutching at her lower back, digging into her flesh, her smile faltering slightly.
As Hazel rejoined the ring, PJ found herself frozen in place, her jaw unhinged. She had to physically close her mouth before anyone noticed.
Where did that come from? Hazel just body-slammed a girl. And then maybe ruptured a disk in the process.
And she looked pretty while doing it.
PJ mentally slammed the brakes on wherever that thought was leading. She was just surprised. Jealous. Jealousy was normal. Jealousy was fine.
She watched Hazel smile sweetly at Mr. G, as if she didn’t just suplex Stella-Rebecca into the Earth’s core.
“What the hell was that?” PJ asked.
Hazel blinked, her head tilting to the side, “What was what?”
“That karate kid shit you just pulled, where the fuck did you learn that?”
Hazel wiped her cut with an open palm, frowning when she looked at her hand and learned that the bleeding hadn’t stopped yet, “Taekwondo. I started in, like, third grade.”
PJ gawked, “Well, you know I don’t really listen when you talk, but since third grade, really?”
“I quit when all the divorce stuff was happening,” Hazel added with a shrug, “I didn’t know I could do that though, I guess I’ve never tried it before…” Hazel smiled, “I forgot how fun this was!”
PJ spun to face Josie, “Did you know she did Taekwondo?” PJ whispered.
“Yeah, I mean she brings it up pretty often… I think she was like black belt adjacent or something like that…”
PJ looked at Hazel, then back at Josie. Then back at Hazel again.
She blinked at the floor.
“...Hot.”
What the actual fuck did she just say?
Josie raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”
“I said what. Shut up.” PJ said, praying that no one heard her. She felt her ego crack (as if Hazel body-slammed it into the gym floor. Stop thinking about Hazel! Bad PJ.) a little as she walked stiffly towards the centre of the circle.
Brittany is hot. That’s what PJ was talking about.
She stood, looking at a stunning, enthusiastic Brittany, but her mind was somewhere else.
PJ hardly heard the whistle, and by the time she processed it, Brittany had already punched her in the stomach.
PJ made a mental note to come up with an excuse that would stop Hazel from flipping anymore people in combat.
Or from anyone ending up in the ER.
PJ practically dove onto the bleachers, her mind fueled by nothing but pure adrenaline and a half-baked plan she was already forgetting. It was closer to one-eighth if PJ was being honest with herself.
PJ decided she could figure out the rest as she went, but maths was never her strong suit.
Before she knew it, PJ was tongue-deep in Hazel Callahan’s throat.
Or, at least, she intended to be. PJ pounced onto Hazel with an aggression and energy PJ had only seen in bad heterosexual pornos, licking the side of her Hazel’s jaw. Amidst all the chaos, PJ was somewhat aware of the fact that there was too much tongue involved. Way too much tongue. She was slobbering like a goddamn dog.
She was trying her best, okay? Unfortunately, PJ’s best involved knocking her teeth into Hazel’s and eating her face. PJ managed to kiss far too much, and not at all. It was supposed to be passionate, but somewhere along the way, wires crossed, and she ended up drooling over Hazel’s chin.
Startled, Hazel froze for a second, her hands awkwardly floating mid-air as she scrambled for a place to anchor them.
Once she did, everything changed. Hazel took control.
With her hands cupping PJ’s neck - firm and certain - Hazel kissed back. Deliberate and sensual. A fiery rhythm that seemed to melt PJ’s brain. Hazel had no panic or chaos. Just control.
PJ felt her knees give out underneath her, clinging to Hazel to keep herself upright.
The warmth from Hazel’s touch sent pleasure flying to all corners of PJ’s body. Hazel kissed like she had something to prove, like she wanted to burn herself into PJ’s memory. Her tongue slipped into PJ’s mouth, fueled by pure desire.
Hazel’s mouth moved with a slow confidence, like she had waited years for this moment. Like Hazel had practised on tons of other girls who were hotter and cooler than her, and PJ couldn’t even bring herself to care about how the biggest loser ever apparently got more game than her because-
Hazel was good at this. She’s good at everything, but especially this.
Hazel’s teeth tugged lightly at PJ’s bottom lip, earning a low moan that involuntarily slipped from PJ’s mouth, straight into Hazel’s.
The mixture of cat-calls, yelling and cheering all faded into the night and time cracked and bended around their passion. There was no football game, no plan, no reason. Just them.
PJ didn’t know what kisses would feel like.
Sure, she kissed Brittany, but that lasted a few seconds at most. Nothing happened. PJ hardly got to learn or feel anything from that. Other than a crushing humiliation right afterwards, so forgive her if she blacked out most of the memory.
Out of all the descriptions and depictions in books, movies, songs and stories. Nothing could have prepared her for this. Not even porn.
The cliche of ‘we were the only people in the universe’ didn’t hold a candle to this. Because in that moment, PJ truly believed the only human to have ever existed was Hazel. After creating someone that perfect, what reason would God have to keep going?
Soon, all coherent thought vanished, and all that was left was Hazel.
Hazel’s lips. Hazel’s tongue. Hazel’s grip tightened around PJ’s nape. A kiss that managed to be soft and hungry at the same time, an oxymoron the English language wasn’t equipped to define.
It felt like falling, plummeting, and trusting the ground to catch you.
Then Hazel pulled away - and all the sound returned at once. Like someone had unmuted the world.
PJ staggered back into reality, her vision coming back into focus. Her heart was somewhere in her throat, and just underneath the overwhelming throbbing of her pulse, she could hear a faint voice over the speakers. She was alive, technically, but unsure if she’d ever recover.
And as they walked off and away from the bleachers, PJ - desperate to avoid looking Hazel in the eyes - found herself staring at Hazel’s hands. Hazel was fiddling with her rings, twisting them absentmindedly. She always seemed to be messing with her hands. Always cracking her knuckles or stretching her thumbs back. Always pulling, flexing and squeezing her fingers.
Fingers that would probably feel so good up PJ’s-
What?
Not the time. Not the time. Not the time. Not the time.
PJ willed the thought away and tried to focus on the task at hand. She was saying things, but not processing what the words were.
Then she made the fatal mistake of looking Hazel in the eyes.
Those impossible blue eyes.
The eyes that glistened when she laughed, and sharpened when she focused,
Eye contact with Hazel was never just eye contact. She had a stare so intense it was unsettling. It was disarming. Intimate. Like she wasn’t just looking at you, she was scanning you. Reading your genetic code, peering past your defences and seeing some version of you unfamiliar to even yourself.
There was something so painfully earnest about her.
Inside PJ’s brain, her thoughts collided - Hazel’s hands, Hazel’s eyes, Hazel’s voice - all ramming into each other at full speed. Ricocheting around her skull and leaving dents in their wake.
Something shifted.
Not a huge shift. Just a tilt, a flicker.
Something was bubbling inside PJ’s chest again. A sickening ache, curling up behind her ribs, making itself feel at home.
It felt like being eleven again. Passing a folded note in class and watching the receiver circle yes or no.
Fuck.
PJ liked Hazel.
Like-liked Hazel.
She was so screwed.
The afternoon sun slanted through Brittany’s windows, the light diffusing through her curtains. PJ was thankful to Brittany for continuously offering to host them at her mansion of a house. Hazel’s house was pretty massive too, but they ran the risk of running into Jeff or some other barely legal prick defiling her mom out in the open, so Brittany’s was the best option.
PJ sat cross-legged on Brittany’s floor, leaning against the edge of Brittany’s bed. A half-eaten bag of Funyuns and other assorted chip bags were between her and Stella-Rebecca, who was methodically stacking Funyuns into a tower. It was honestly impressive. PJ helped, occasionally passing Stella the most circular ones after a harsh round of vetting them.
Brittany and Isabel were on the other side of the room, trying their best to teach Josie to do a handstand against the wall. However, teaching was generous, as Isabel was mostly shouting encouragement at Josie while Brittany physically hauled Josie’s legs up to the wall.
“I have, like, zero upper-body strength, so this is a horrible idea actually!” Josie protested as Brittany manhandled her ankles.
Isabel pouted playfully, “You said you’d try it!”
“I said I would think about trying it. Which is basically a no.” Josie’s legs flailing in the air, threatening to whack Brittany in the jaw.
PJ glanced over at the other side of the room towards Hazel.
She was playing blackjack with Sylvie and Annie using that same mangled pack of cards Sylvie always had on her. ‘You should never go anywhere without a deck of cards, ’ she’d once told PJ, as if there was a need for an impromptu gambling ring in every possible situation ever.
Hazel picked at peeling skin on her thumbs as she watched the game unfold. Her face scrunched in concentration, even if the only thing on the line was bragging rights.
It had been about six weeks since the game - five weeks of dating Hazel - and PJ still found herself staring. Every time Hazel smiled at her from across a crowded room, or quietly bumped their knees together, PJ half-expected to wake up from a dream.
Hazel watched the game in front of her, her hand absentmindedly drifting towards the zipper of her schoolbag.
A panicked look suddenly flashed across Hazel’s face.
“Hey, has anyone seen a keychain anywhere?” She asked, standing up and scanning the area where she was sitting.
“What kind?” Stella-Rebecca asked from her seat.
Hazel replied, checking inside each pocket of her bag. “Just like… those string ones, with like alphabet beads,”
PJ spoke up, “Like the one I gave you?”
Hazel nodded as she continued her search, her movements more frantic.
It was a stupid beaded keychain made with the remnants of a DIY bracelet kit PJ found underneath her bed. She was on her hundredth rewatch of Entourage (which in her head she decided to call ‘studying’ since she chose to write her English analysis assignment on the show). Her hands needed something to do, and her brain needed something to stop thinking about Hazel Callahan for five fucking seconds.
So naturally, she made Hazel a keychain.
It was nothing fancy, just white cube beads spelling out ‘MRS WATERS,’ the teal string looped in a messy knot at the end. PJ thought it was funny.
And maybe she loved the idea of Hazel walking around with something that proved - in a very loud, very childish way - that she was PJ’s. It was a declaration. A claim. It proved she was PJ’s girlfriend and not available.
PJ remembers giving it to Hazel the next day at school, casually loitering by her locker as if she hadn’t been anxiously waiting for the past ten minutes. PJ leaned against the wall like the love-interest in a shitty teen-highschool movie. Arms crossed like she didn’t have a single thought in her head.
Which was a lie - her head was full of them. Full of Hazel. Full of regret for making a stupid keychain like a middle-schooler at summer camp.
In the distance, she saw Isabel and Josie canoodling. Fuck, PJ was slowly turning into them.
Hazel finally showed up, cheery and completely unaware of the nervous breakdown PJ was having. PJ pulled the keychain out of her pocket, aggressively shoving it into Hazel’s hands without so much as a greeting.
“Here,” PJ said, not daring to look at Hazel’s expression, or the keychain she just placed in her hands.
“What’s this?”
Hazel spun it around in her hands, processing what she was given.
“Don’t make it a thing.”
Hazel didn’t respond, or even just laugh like PJ had hoped. She was quiet and just kept staring at it. Holding it in both hands like she was afraid she’d destroy it.
She held it up delicately, her cheeks a deep pink, “You made this?”
“I got bored.”
“You made this… for me?” Hazel’s voice wavered.
“Again, don’t make this a thing.”
“I love it.”
PJ finally looked at Hazel’s face. Her eyes sparkled, a wide grin painted over her features - the kind that made her feel like she was in a rom-com against her will. Hazel wasn’t teasing; she meant it. She was beaming, like someone had handed her diamonds instead of a few beads and string.
“Thank you. Seriously. This means a lot.”
PJ tried to scoff, but she didn’t have it in her, “It’s just some beads.”
But Hazel simply leaned forward and took PJ in a soft kiss, wrapping her arms around PJ’s waist. And when she pulled back, she rested their foreheads together.
“Well, I have to marry you now,” Hazel whispered.
The words hung in the air. It was probably meant to be a joke, Hazel smiling as she said it. But there was something in the way her voice dipped as she said it, the way she stared into PJ’s eyes, the way she moved their bodies closer, that made PJ feel like it wasn’t one.
Maybe it was just Hazel being weird about tone. She did that sometimes. Injected her jokes and sarcasm with too much sincerity.
Or maybe there was a part of Hazel that wasn’t joking at all.
A strangled noise escaped PJ’s throat, and Hazel laughed. PJ could feel Hazel’s laughter on her own skin. PJ refused to put her arms around Hazel’s neck, although her body was practically begging her to do so. Instead she kept them stiffly at her sides like a fucking loser.
“Hazel Waters. Has a nice ring to it,” Hazel said, rolling the keychain around in her hands.
“God, you suck Callahan.”
“I think you mean Waters.”
PJ finally gave in and draped her arms around Hazel’s neck. But only because people were walking by and she didn’t want to seem like an asshole and a horrible girlfriend.
Not because her heart was hammering, and not because she was already thinking about the next stupid little gift to give Hazel to make sure this would happen again.
PJ snapped out of her little reverie just in time to see Hazel check the same exact pocket she had started with. Before PJ could even formulate a vague concept of the words she wanted to say, someone else spoke up.
“I can help you look for it if you want.” Brittany offered, already making her way over to Hazel.
Hazel finally glanced up, suddenly aware of all the eyes on her.
“No… It’s fine, I probably lost it back at school anyway.” Hazel muttered, her voice tight.
Despite pretending to give up, Hazel continued her search, opening different compartments of her bag repeatedly as if doing it enough times meant the keychain would manifest itself into existence. She had slowed down, attempting to appear casual, but her shoulders were stiff and her jaw was clenched tight.
Hazel stood, pacing across the room. She used her fingers to sift through the rug and lift couch cushions. She glanced behind shelves, then doubled back to her bag like maybe she’d missed something the first seven times.
PJ watched, mid-funyun crunch. Should she say something? Clearly, Hazel didn’t want the attention, but PJ could tell she was spiralling. Would PJ be making it worse?
Hazel dropped to her knees next to a bookshelf and slammed her elbow into its edge.
“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, clutching her elbow to her side. She stood up, sucking in a shaky breath and tilting her head up. PJ caught it: the gloss in her eyes, the way she bit the inside of her cheek, the unsteady rise and fall of her chest.
Maybe she should say something.
PJ walked over, gently tapping Hazel on the shoulder. She spun around, startled, and PJ got a close-up view of Hazel’s flushed cheeks and glassy eyes (which she was trying her best to keep open like blinking would make her cry).
“Hazel,” PJ said softly, “come with me for a second.”
PJ led Hazel out of the room and shut the door behind her. Standing in Brittany’s hallway, Hazel looked back at her, brow furrowed in confusion.
“Are you okay?” PJ asked.
Hazel nodded too quickly. Brushing off the question and reaching for the doorknob.
PJ stepped in front of her. Didn’t say anything and just stopped her.
Her arms slowly unfolding, opening.
Hazel froze.
PJ’s open arms waited for Hazel. No pressure, just an invitation.
Hazel didn’t hesitate to accept it.
She dove into the hug, collapsing into PJ’s embrace. With PJ’s arms now wrapped tight around her waist, Hazel couldn’t hold back her tears. Her body shook, still small and quiet, like she was still holding back.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” the words spilling out of Hazel’s mouth.
PJ rubbed slow, almost awkward, circles into Hazel’s back, “I’ve got you. You know I don’t care about the keychain, right?”
“I did!” Hazel said, her voice cracking, “I know I’m being dramatic, but… no one ever gives me stuff. Not like that. My parents get me stuff - but that’s just them trying to feel better about their own... You know.”
Her crying intensified, her frame shaking harder against PJ.
“No one gives me things just because.” Her words were interrupted by sharp, uneven inhales she couldn’t seem to control.
PJ listened, rocking them both side-to-side.
Hazel fought against her own body to get the words out, “And I feel like… like it was this thing, from the beginning of us. Like the first tangible thing, and now I've lost it. It’s gone and I don’t have it anymore and-” She sucked in a shallow breath, “I feel like I lost the start of us.”
PJ’s heart twisted, and she tenderly pulled the two of them apart so she could look into Hazel’s eyes. Her face was wet with tears, and her nose was a bright shade of red. PJ brought her hands up to the side of Hazel’s face, using her thumbs to softly wipe at the tears still spilling down.
“Hazel, that’s really sweet, and it’s not stupid.”
Hazel gave a small wet laugh, muffled by embarassment and shortened by a shaky inhale, “God, I’m so fucking sappy. I can’t believe I’m crying over a keychain.”
“You’re allowed to cry over it,” PJ pulled Hazel back into her arms. “I would’ve cried too. Probably a lot grosser.”
Hazel let out another laugh that dissolved almost instantly into more tears, burying her face in PJ’s neck. Her arms tightened around PJ, like she was scared she’d vanish.
And PJ just held her. Tight. Because Hazel hadn’t had someone to hold her like that for a long time.
And PJ wanted to be that person for her.
Hazel made her want to be a better person in general.
“I’ll make you another one, promise.”
Fuck.
PJ continued to whisper sweet reassurances in Hazel’s ear.
After a while, Hazel calmed down, and her tears stopped. PJ continued to hold her close, she didn’t want to let go ever, actually.
Eventually, Hazel’s breathing evened out, too, and she pulled away from PJ.
PJ thought of something, reaching into her pocket for her own keys.
She slipped one off the carabiner (the lesbian stereotypes haunted her like a ghost) and held it up.
A funky-looking, horribly painted cat PJ had gotten from a gacha machine in the mall a few years back. An orange critter, standing on its hind legs, wearing what was probably meant to be a strawberry over its head.
She pressed it softly into Hazel’s hand, a more subdued version of when PJ had given her that keychain back then.
“Take this until I make you a new one.”
Hazel studied it, her face morphing into a small smile.
“You love this thing,” Hazel said, looking back at PJ.
“I love you more.”
Oh fuck. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
Hazel, without missing a beat, warmly whispered back, “I love you, too.”
PJ was so whipped.
Hazel accepted the cat and reached for the door back into Brittany’s room.
As they opened the door, they were greeted by all the girls huddled up around the door, shamelessly eavesdropping.
“Wow, guys. What the fuck!” PJ said, her face heating up.
Annie giggled, “We were worried!”
“You were nosy.” PJ retorted.
“We were emotionally invested, there’s a difference!” Stella added.
Josie spoke up, “Did we just hear the first I-love-yous? I didn’t think you had that in you, honestly.”
“Oh, Fuck off,” PJ said, crossing her arms.
“I just can’t believe PJ has emotions other than horny and angry,” Brittany said, a smirk on her face.
“I know, right? Hazel makes her so… soft. It’s sweet!” Isabel said, her hands making weird gestures as she searched for the word she wanted.
PJ wrapped her arms around Hazel again, defensively this time.
"Whatever. She’s my girlfriend. I’m allowed to-”
Baby her. Take care of her. Love her.
She could not say any of that.
"Fucking- whatever, shut up." Geez, PJ, so articulate.
PJ loves Hazel Callahan.
That’s what that feeling is.