Chapter Ten: Complicated Things
394 Words
Fridays at Marcecue High usually meant noise — sneakers squeaking in the hallways, teachers pretending to teach, students pretending to listen.
But Max didn’t feel like pretending anymore.
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In P.E., Coach Musa announced a surprise match — Dele’s crew vs. the art class boys.
“Losers clean the gym,” he barked.
Easy stakes.
Or so it seemed.
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The boys laughed as they laced their boots.
“You ready to redeem your broken reputation?” Jay joked, tossing Max a jersey.
Max caught it. “You mean my football reputation or my emotional one?”
Laughter broke out.
Even Victor clapped him on the back. “At least he admits he fumbled.”
But Max didn’t smile fully. His thoughts were elsewhere.
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Hazel was on the bleachers.
Not watching the game — sketching in her journal.
Still, Max noticed her.
And for a second, he played like she was watching.
He ran harder.
Passed sharper.
Even scored twice.
It wasn’t about showing off.
It was about being seen — differently.
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After the game, drenched and catching his breath, Max walked toward the bleachers.
Hazel didn’t look up.
“You sketching me in action?” he asked, half-joking.
She glanced up. “Please. You think you’re that inspiring?”
He grinned. “Maybe a little.”
Hazel rolled her eyes, but this time, it came with a ghost of a smile.
Then she said, “You were good today. I mean that.”
Max nodded. “Thanks.”
A pause. Then—
“I meant what I said in my text,” he added.
Hazel flipped her journal shut. “I know.”
And that was it.
But it was more than yesterday.
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Meanwhile… Isabella watched from the library window.
She’d seen the game.
Seen the way Max looked at Hazel.
And for the first time, she let herself wonder:
Did she still feel hurt?
Or just… replaced?
She closed her book and sighed.
“Complicated things,” she whispered to herself.
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That night, Max opened a group chat — not the boys’ crew, not anything messy.
Just a message:
> Max: Thanks for putting up with me. I’m figuring it out. One day at a time.
No emojis. No jokes.
Hazel didn’t reply.
Isabella didn’t either.
But the message was read.
And sometimes…
That’s enough to keep going.
- Writer
