Chapter Three

"There was a reason Cinderella had slippers—weaponry."—Hazel Titus

August

She was by the tree.

"Be right back," I told Mom, who had already fallen asleep on the chair and was tucked in with her blanket.

Her name fell off the tip of my tongue. "Hazel."

I don't know how she heard it the minute I was out my door, but she blinked her eyes open and looked up at me, their blue color so damn pretty. Her hair was longer, and she'd matured, that was for sure, but she'd always been innocent and beautiful—despite the mouth her great-grandma left her with.

I had no clue why girls with fuller top lips than the bottom ones seemed to always have the final word, but Hazel was proof of that. It was like she had to make up for something. And after her first insult, I was freaking obsessed with that full upper lip, as if one taste despite her bitter words would make everything okay. Her eyes were always stormy unless she was reading a stupid book, and her legs dangled so far down when she was in that tree that she'd gotten nicknamed The Jolly Green Giant in school.

That was then. This was…wow.

I crossed the yard and jogged over to her. It was familiar, finding her next to or in the tree. She wore a gorgeous, strappy dress that made you taste summer on your tongue and brought up thoughts I shouldn't have been thinking. Like kissing her, which I'd always known wouldn't happen since her dad was certifiable when it came to his daughter dating. One time, at a parent-teacher conference in high school, I'd sworn I'd overheard some kid in the hall crying because Travis had warned every boy in school to keep it in their pants or he'd send Hazel's great-grandma in to teach them etiquette.

I wasn't sure what dinner and dress etiquette had to do with anything until I realized that half of them had to take it to graduate. And then I had this very extreme nightmare where she had a needle and kept poking things and laughing while the school burned down around her red high heels.

I shuddered. "Yo." I wasn't sure why that was the first word out of my stupid mouth, but I couldn't take it back. The wind had already brought it to her. "Hazel."

Her eyes didn't leave mine as she took a step toward me in her red heels that reminded me of her great-grandma—small kitten heels that could do as much damage as a perfectly pointed stiletto, almost like she was flying incognito for any sad sucker out there who had the balls to hit on her or call her pretty.

I took a step back, then one forward, because…why should I be intimidated? The past was the past, and there was no reason for her to hate me. I was here to—

"You sick, sick, sick…" Okay, why was she repeating sickover and over again? And why did I suddenly feel emotionally attacked with a need to sprint back home to my safe space by my motorcycle? "Bastard."

Shit, was she going to grab a heel? She reached for one, then the other. Oh, no. She was going for double or nothing.

WasI snake eyes?

She suddenly dropped them and walked barefoot toward me. "You are the absolute worst. Look, I know you're going through things, too, but you made my life a living hell. And now you have the audacity to be all like, ‘Yo, Hazel'?"

She said it like I was one step away from getting a prison tattoo.

I coughed out a curse and forced my best smile. "I mean, I thought it was more or less like a, yo, Hazel," I said in a softer, more inviting tone.

She shook her head. Her blond hair was brighter and fell across her shoulders in soft yet aggressive waves. "No, your tone was all, ‘Hey, bro, water under the bridge.' Well, the water is firmly,"—she huffed—"firmly…"

I frowned. "Under the bridge. Because the flow of water is technically under the bridge, unless you have a flood, which then means you might lose the bridge, and—"

"Stop, just stop." Tears filled her eyes. "I just graduated, my great-grandma is dead, and I'm celebrating her today. I don't want to fight. Just go home."

"But…" I shoved my hands into my pockets, hoping to look innocent. "I just came to say hi."

"Oh." She smirked and crossed her arms. "To the gross giant?"

I could have sworn every part of my body went numb. "What are you talking about?" Seriously, what was she talking about?

"I know what you said when the rumor started. That I was the gross giant. And you said it to literally every guy in school. But to have you say it? You know, one time I thought we were friends."

"We were frenemies. And not to correct you, but I never said that. Asshole Josh Prichards, who always had a stick up his ass because you turned him down, did."

She looked away and down at the ground where her red shoes lay. Damn, they even looked pretty against the green grass. "Still, you weren't nice."

"Guys are rarely nice when they like someone or find them intriguing," I pointed out as I circled her. "In fact, a lot of times, we default into asshole or stupid mode. It's the most unfair thing in the world because, the minute you want to say, ‘I like you,' you end up pulling a ponytail and laughing, or stealing a fruit snack, thinking they'll chase you and ask why so you can get them alone. Wait, that part sounded creepy. I meant adult fruit snacks. This is not first grade. Actually, I'll stop talking now. It went downhill after the snack."

She smiled down at her bare feet. "Doesn't mean I like an asshole."

"Doesn't mean I like a spoiled princess, but…" I walked closer. "At the risk of you biting me or kicking me in the balls, I'm really sorry about your great-grandma. She was special."

She sniffled as her hair fell like a curtain across her face, and all I saw was the upper lip getting bitten. What the hell was wrong with me? "Thanks, but I think it's better if we stay enemies."

I snorted. "You've never dealt with an enemy or a true battle a day in your life."

Her head snapped up, Exorcist-style. Later in life, I would say it twisted all the way around until she stared back at me and stole my soul. "What? What was that?"

I liked the fierceness in her eyes, so I took the bait. Maybe that's what love and hate, friendship and being enemies, was all about. "I said"—I gripped her by the chin—"that you've never seen a battle a day in your life."

She smacked my hand away and gave me a shove. "Then I guess you're in for a very long summer of war with the girl next door. You see, that girl is sweet. This one? She's a warrior. And I never back down from a fight. Have a good night."

She grabbed her shoes and stomped off like I didn't understand her. I walked back across the yard with a smile on my face, my first real, genuine smile in a while. She wanted to play?

I was always a fan of games, and I was suddenly an even bigger fan of hers than I was before—not that I hadn't been. She'd rejected me in middle school when I asked to sit by her on the bleachers and offered her my hot Takis while she watched Stranger Things on her phone.

Epic fail. She never even heard me; just handed me the bag and kept watching. Saddest Taki moment ever.

After that, it was this weird give-and-take, laugh-and-kind-of-cry sort of relationship. Then, when we got into high school, I grew into my body. She didn't grow into hers. In fact, she got made fun of, and I tried to defend her, but not hard enough. I became a dick and blamed my friends. But I was different now.

Hazel?

She was always just Hazel. The same bright, intelligent, beautiful Hazel. I just wished she saw herself the way everyone else did. Guys were pissed because her dad threatened them in a joking way, and then they were pissed because I was the only one who could talk to her, despite her fascination with Jane Austen.

If she only knew… Wow. I couldn't believe I'd thought that as I returned to my house. Damn social media. She'd been so many guys' Roman Empire—mine included.

But if she wanted a war…

The girl would get a war.

"Yo, Hazel," I called over my shoulder. "Get ready for day one."

She shook her head and kept walking.

She was ill-prepared.

Good.

When I got back into the house, Mom stuttered awake. "Was that Hazel? Are things good now?"

I grinned as I walked into the living room. "Most excitement I've had in a while. Might get her a graduation present."

"Aw, that's"—she yawned—"so sweet." She tried to get up but stumbled back into the chair. "Sorry, just tired. The meds hit a bit harder today."

With tears in my eyes, I helped her up and wrapped the quilt around her frail shoulders. "We all have those, just rest."

For now, my mind was on my mom. At least, until the next morning, when a present nearly hit me on the way to grabbing the newspaper from the front porch.

I looked down.

It said TNT on it.

Very funny.

I shook it like a dumbass.

And it exploded with pink glitter. I found a tiny note inside. Don't mess with women who wear heels on grass. It takes savage superpowers to walk in a straight line without sinking into the dirt. You've been warned. Also, I always thought men with dirt on their faces needed a bit of pink…maybe go check your motorcycle.

I flicked the card onto the ground, then picked up some of the pink glitter from my shirt and blew it toward her house. "You have no idea what's coming, little girl."