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I narrowed my eyes and murmured a curse word before I began flipping through my notebook to find a song for Hazel to magically make better. “Fine. We can do ‘Possibilities.’”
“Hmm ... what is it about?”
“A new relationship forming. I want to showcase those beginning feelings, you know? The fears and excitements. The nerves. The unknown. The—”
“First chapters of love,” she finished my thoughts.
“Yes, that.”
She took the pencil from behind my ear and took the notebook from my grip. “May I?”
“Please. Go for it.”
She began scribbling, crossing things out, adding things in, doing whatever came to her mind. She worked like a madwoman, falling into a world of creativity that I hadn’t thought she held inside of her. The only thing I knew about Hazel Stone was where she came from and the clothes she wore. I hadn’t known anything else, but now she was pouring herself out on the page, and I couldn’t wait to see what the hell she was scribbling.
She took a breath and handed the notebook back to me. “If you hate it, no harm, no foul,” she said.
My eyes darted over the words.It’s possible this is forever ours. It’s possible we’ll reach the stars. We’ll fight for this; we’ll make it real. Is it possible, possible, to show you how I feel?
“Shit.” I blew out a breath of air. “Hazel ... that’s ... fuck. It’s like you crawled into my head and read the thoughts I couldn’t decipher. That’s the chorus. That’s it.”
“You really like it?”
“It’s kind of perfect. Help me with the next verse? ‘Too late to go, too early to stay, just want to find out what brings a smile to your face. Is this fake, or is it real? The beating of my heart ...’” I paused. “The beating of my heart ...”
“‘The beating of my heart and the shivers down my spine. Just let me know if you’ll be mine,’” she tossed out, as if it came easy as ever to her. She did it over and over again with my other lyrics too. Adding the missing pieces that I’d been in search of for years.
What in the goddamn hell was happening? How had Hazel managed to tap into a source I hadn’t ever been able to find?
“How do you do that?” I asked. “How do you just ... get it?”
“Easy.” She shrugged. “I’m not a brick wall like you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means exactly that. You’re a brick wall. You don’t get in touch with your emotions, which means your lyrics come out bland and unauthentic. There’s no heart in them, because you don’t have any heart to give.”
Those words felt like a personal attack.
I tensed up. “Bullshit. I feel things.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Stop talking like you know me.”
“I’m not talking like I know you, because I’m pretty sure I don’t know you. I doubt many people know you at all, because, again, you’re a brick wall. You don’t let people in, because you’re too afraid.”
I couldn’t believe this girl. She was going on and on about how I was cold and closed off, but she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. And to think I’d given her my black shoes! My chest tightened, and I pushed myself up from the rocking chair as I snatched the notebook from her grip. “I don’t need you telling me who I am or what I’m afraid of,” I snapped, feeling a bit unsettled at how she seemed to see me in a way no one else had.
“You can be pissy about it, but I know you are just because I’m right.”
“You’re not.”
“Am too.”
“I don’t even know why I’m wasting my breath with you,” I grumbled and released a weighted sigh. “I got better things to do.”
“Like write worse lyrics?”
