Hazel Irises

Chapter Five

As you know, I've spent my whole life in New York City, living in an apartment surrounded by skyscrapers and street vendors. I've led an overwhelmingly normal life, and my plan has always been to continue with the boring, typical lifestyle: grow up, graduate high school, attend college, get a job, get married, have kids. Nothing was in my way. No one argued with my choices. I was ordinary, and I was fine with it.

It was obvious to me on my first day of sixth grade that not everyone shared the same choices as me. That was the day that I didn't officially meet Hazel, but she came into my life. I first noticed her a couple times in the hall. She wasn't stunningly beautiful back then. In fact, she was kind of ugly. She had these gawky eyes. I could never decode their color until she actually began to look normal. And her skin had so many freckles I couldn't decide if they were real or if she drew them. Her hair couldn't ever decide what it was doing. One day, it would have big curls that were so loose it was clear that she didn't use an iron for them. The next, it would just be downright frizzy or straight as pins, also not a result of grooming, I'm pretty sure. Maybe the straight hair was.

Anyway.

The unpredictability of Hazel's hair proved to be true in her personality, as well. In the halls, she seemed like a wild spirit, free of boundaries. She ran around and danced and laughed with her friends. Then, when she appeared in my seventh period class, she was solemn, quiet, respectful. I couldn't believe it. Sitting right behind her, I blocked out the teacher's lecture on school rules (having heard it six times before, I could definitely pass on the seventh) to observe her. She didn't peep a single word.

It could have been a sign of common sense, but I didn't believe it. Hazel was a mystery, and I wanted to figure her out.

Which, obviously, wouldn't be easy. There were too many other boys (and a couple girls) that wanted to go on the same quest, and they were all way better than I was. More interesting, more ambitious, and definitely more handsome, they had a better chance of getting close to Hazel than I ever did. But I still tried, and look where it got me. I got to kiss Hazel Jones, and the majority of the other boys didn't.

Then I moved as far away from her as possible and found another girl, one who was so different from Hazel, so much more predictable, so much calmer, so much more me. I knew this new girl was healthier for me, and easier for me to handle, unlike the ball of fire back in New York. But I couldn't keep asking myself the same question every day.

If that was so, then why am I unsatisfied with the way things are now?

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I became a regular at Iris's house. It was a haven, somewhere to rest after long school days. I would often stay for dinner. Although my parents' home-made escargots did fill my stomach, I can't say that I preferred it over a family-sized box of Kraft mac and cheese, prepared by the loving father of my new best friend and possibly the nicest man in the world.

One particular night, Iris and I were studying for an Algebra II exam set for the following Friday, and simultaneously fixing a pot of bowtie pasta and pesto so Mr. Summers (whom I now had permission to call Luke) wouldn't have to cook when he got home. The dinner was cooked with minimal damage to the kitchen and our textbooks, the table was set, and all that was left was to wait for him to come home.

We did some more studying until our brains were fried and could absolutely not take in any more information, and then we sat on the couch and watched some lame movie about New Year's Eve or something--too ironic for me to watch. It became clear that neither of us were actually watching the movie, so Iris muted it and kicked her legs into my lap.

"You know, you're really tall," I said.

"So are you," Iris replied.

"Your legs are heavy."