I rub the wounded spot on the back of my head ruffling my hair. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you?" Darnell says reaching for another pretzel stick from the bag he's holding in his other hand. He's wearing his basketball jersey and a blue hoodie over it.

I frown, "Because of you I might have a concussion again."

"Woah, the first time may have been entirely my fault but this time was all you."

I stand in a partial crouch with my hands dangling at my sides wondering how Darnell got out from under Leah in the five minutes I had that spat with Anika. Maybe more time had elapsed than I thought. A consequence of being way too in my head to notice anything.

"If you want you can sit down," He says gesturing to the brown patch of ground next to him.

I could do a lot worse in terms of seating arrangements so I nod and crouch a little more before I plop myself down. Not for the first time tonight I regret the decision to wear a skirt. It's impossible to cross my legs or actually get low enough to sit so I have to get real creative with positioning. For an awkward second, I have to lower my legs and then crouch until I can sit down and land with a huff. I hold my legs to my chest to keep decent but it doesn't make for the most comfortable form.

For an even more awkward pause, neither of us says anything.

"Great game," He says suddenly.

It's hard to believe that five minutes ago I was in a fight with my closest friend and oddly enough Kite Adams because the next thing I say is: "Great game. That was a freaking great game."

Darnell shifts around to look at me, "That was the greatest game this year. Screw that, the greatest game we've ever played."

"The Ravens didn't even know what hit em. The shock on Flynn's face when he worked it all out." I say.

"And your play. It actually blew my mind how quickly you came up with that." Wordlessly he passes me the bag of pretzels as though he's received the mental signals I've been broadcasting to him. I have a soft spot for salted dough snacks and anyone who offers them to me.

I grab a pretzel stick and set upon gnawing on it. "My play? How about your three-pointer? I had no idea you had it in you."

He scoffs, "You can check the disbelief, Hazel. I've scored before."

"Actually not in recent history. In fact—"

Darnell pulls the pretzel bag away, "Yeah, thanks for reminding me."

And with that we return to the awkward silence we had settled into before. I wasn't trying to be mean. I was being honest.

"So, uhhh," I say swallowing the rest of my pretzel. "Why are you sitting under the bleachers. When you could be out there, the life of the party. The guy who scored the equalizer." I whisper the word equalizer.

He smiles, "Not really. This isn't exactly my scene." He puts the words my scene in air quotes. " I was supposed to be playing Fortnite but instead I'm here hiding from my friends."

"Hiding?"

"Yup. I don't know if you've noticed but this much social interaction isn't necessarily a good thing for me."

"No, I haven't," I say drily. "With your charming personality. I can't imagine that."

"You don't have to be so sarcastic all the time, you know."

"I'm not being sarcastic. I'm being real." I say in my defense. "Everyone likes you. It's like you're some kind of magnet and you make people want to be around you."

"Not you, of course."

"Never me."

"And why are you sitting under the bleachers, eating my pretzels?" He asks.

"I'm keeping you company?"

"No, really? Why are you actually here?"

"Long story or short?" I ask rubbing the tops of my knees.

"Short, we're kind of running out of pretzels so I want the redacted version."

"Fine," I say. It takes a minute for me to untangle the knot of what it is I have to explain. "I think I lost my only friend."

"You have more than one friend, Hazel."

"Thanks."

*****

I met Gita at our freshman end-of-year dance. The theme was A Midsummers night's dream. Which was odd considering half of our year hadn't gotten around to reading any Shakespeare and weren't going to anytime soon with the way things were going. I blame Sparknotes. Back then, I got to school at eight sharp and left a few minutes past three. I didn't have any extracurriculars apart from basketball and hadn't gotten around to negotiating a more lenient curfew with my parents. My life had no room for a social life whatsoever. I liked it better that way or at least I think I did.

"Why'd you have to go with a pink dress?" I asked, repositioning the silver bracelet latched around my wrist.

Andrea smiled but kept her focus on the road. "You look pretty in pink, it gives you an air of innocence."

The dress is pretty, that much is true, with thin straps and a poofy, layered skirt. As minimal exposure of skin as possible. It would have been a great look at Andrea's prom back in the day but not at this dance.

"Innocent isn't the look most people will be going for." I shuddered at the thought. Thigh-high slits, cutouts, and v-necks galore were expected if the class group chat discussions were to be believed.

"Which is why you have to be different." She replies. This time she looks at me, meeting my eyes "You're not conventional, you don't... What's the word?"

I shrug.

"You don't conform. And that's your strength. You don't have to be like everyone else, you don't have to talk or think or even look like everybody else, Hazel."

"Does that mean I don't have to go to this?" It was worth a try anyway. "We can go to McDonald's and get Mcflurries instead."

"No, your first high school dance is important. That much I know. You can't miss it." She didn't let me finish. "Although a Mcflurry for me does sound rather tempting."

I turned to stare out the window. The school wasn't far, just one more street away. But rather than excitement, I felt a bubbling anxiety. I was certain that I'd throw up as soon as the car stopped and I got out.

"You're a good kid," Andrea says.

Before she can continue I chip in, "For the most part."

She grins, "Yes, for the most part. But I'm legally required to tell you this, no drinking, no drug use, no boys."

"Eww, definitely no boys. Our year has the most unattractive male population in the history of Irvine High."

"That's what I like to hear."

After a brief navigation of the parking lot, Andrea slides the car into one of the many free spots. Not only did I show up alone, but I was early.

I don't want to go.

I can't walk in these shoes, two-inch heels or not.

I'll have no one to talk to.

"Wish me luck," I said pushing back the suffocating feeling and trying not to look back as I stepped out of the car.

The revelries would be held on the roof after a petition was signed by most of the freshmen and the entire senior year. Because a change for us meant that, their Senior prom would be on the roof rather than the sports field. No one said anything explicitly but we were tasked with not screwing it up. Not giving the administration any reason not to let it happen again. Which meant jumping off the roof to escape the dance was no longer an option.

It was midsummery enough by anyone's standards. With black and blue balloons, vines running across our snack table, and even instrumental pop music. One of the boys had even dressed up as a donkey, for historical accuracy. Despite the attempt though it didn't make me feel any more welcome. I held my glass of juice like it was a piece of armor, in an attempt to ward off any takers for conversation as if I would be so lucky.

It may have been our first dance but people still went all out. The makeup was beautiful, the dresses designer but even so the most impressive thing on that roof were the suits. Crisp, sharp, and expensive. It made my charity shop gown seem inadequate to say the least.

"It's a good thing I'm not wearing any eyeliner," I whispered to myself as a single tear rolled across my cheek. I leaned against the brick wall and watched the people in the middle twirling each other. It looked like fun even under my jaded gaze. To have someone like you enough that they would brave the intensity of staring into your eyes and holding your waist. What a concept?

"Have you ever watched a sitcom?" The voice was soft but its appearance was so sudden and the question was so random that I started, sloshing some of my drink onto my shoes.

"What?" I asked swiping at the tears on my face and sniffling. Annoyed that my quiet angst had been interrupted.

"Sorry," The girl said looking down at my feet then back at my face. Hopefully missing the tears. "Have you ever watched a sitcom?"

"Yeah..." Obviously.

"A bad sitcom, from the nineties or whatever prehistoric time those shows stem from." She said with an eloquence I didn't think was possible for a fifteen-year-old to possess.

My response was not nearly as well put together. "Sort of, I think."

"Then you know that scenario, that they all have where the main character finds himself with two dates and he can't cancel, so the entire episode centers on him juggling both dates until he's forced to admit the truth."

"I—, I guess so."

"Well, you see that boy over there, grey suit, black hair."

He was the tall one spinning the girl wearing a brilliant red dress. They were laughing.

"Yeah, I see him." Is all I could say. I looked back at the girl standing next to me. She was dressed in purple. A long sequined dress with a slit that ran up her leg. Her hair was down, running across her back.

"He came with me tonight and if the night goes as planned, he'll most likely leave with her." She said without a hint of bitterness. That wasn't the part she was upset about.

"Wow, umm... He's a really—"

"Shitty person, yup, He picked her. Of all people her?" She bit her lip, hard. "And do you know what that means for me?"

"You don't have a date anymore?"

"That's the least of my concerns. It means that I'm a side character."

"Not a side chick?"

The rejoinder spilled out so fast and I couldn't stop myself.

"No, smart mouth." The girl said, looking down at me with a glint in her eyes. "I'm trying to be poetic over here. It means I'm playing the supporting role in the bad sitcom that is my life."

"I didn't even have a date, or even friend to come here with." I found myself saying going out of my way to be relatable. "If you're a supporting actress then I'm an understudy. In the bad sitcom of your life."

She tossed her head back and laugh a sound as sharp as she was. I laughed too, at our joint predicament. I laughed because somehow, in the mess of a hundred other people, over spilled grape juice and under glittering lights, we had found common ground. Shaky and diminutive at best but it was still ground.

"Okay, then," she said when she was done. "I'm Gita Singh, supporting actress."

"Hazel Monroe. Understudy."

Even back then she was unlucky in love.

*****

"Am I a bad friend?" I ask him when I'm done narrating the "redacted" version of the story. "Am I the asshole?"

"Hmm," He murmurs. "Knowing you the way I do. Most likely?"

I sigh, unfolding my legs to get up and leave but he places a hand on my knee, stopping me. It's only for a few seconds but the motion sends the tiniest jolt of electricity running up my spine. I look at him to see if the reaction was mutual but his face doesn't give anything away. Leaving me to reason that it was just static electricity.

"I'm sorry, I was joking." He says smiling at me. It's the same smile he had when he was seven, the same gap between his front teeth, still one size too big for his mouth. "You aren't a bad person."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup, I mean it," He says, and then in what just might be the most stilted gesture in the history of Completely Platonic Friendly Contact, he pats my shoulder twice as one would a cat. A cat you found on the streets and isn't all the way clean. And that's real weird because he doesn't have a cat. Or like them. "You can still talk to me even though we aren't close anymore."

Something about the words brings the lump I've been avoiding all the way back to my throat and I can't respond. I nod.

My phone buzzes cutting through the haze. I pull it out from my front pocket. I'm half expecting another notification from my social accounts. But it's not, it's a text from Andrea asking if I'm having fun yet. At the sleepover, I'm supposed to be having with Anika.

I sigh remembering that I still have to go home.

"I uhh have to go home. So I'm gonna..."

"Yeah," He says. "Me too."

We both bend under the structure of the bleachers and emerge from the wider side. When I can straighten I dust the edge of my skirt and curse the fact that I've gotten the hem of the sweater dirty.

"I probably shouldn't ask but do you need a ride?"

I clamp down on the relief at his offer and instead ask, "It depends, did you drink?"

"No. Definitely not drinking and driving." He says shaking his head. "You know my parents. Is that a yes?"

It's a yes, of course, because how else I am I getting home.