Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating - Christina Lauren Page 0,30
“Who knew you guys were so smart? Guess poor Josh didn’t need that much help after all . . .”
“What can I say, I’m an encyclopedia of useless information.” Hazel gives her an innocent shrug before quickly pointing to the stage. “Oh look, Dick is back.”
“Our next category—and judging by the number of Budweiser cans in the recycling bin, one a lot of you have been waiting for—sports!”
“Yes!” Adam slams a hand on the table, knocking over his beer just as Cali groans. “Fucking finally.”
“Now, this one’s a little tough,” Dick says, looking out over the room.
“Bring it!” Adam yells, full of confidence and beer.
“ESPN analyst Lee Corso played football in college. He attended Florida State in the midfifties and roomed with another player who would eventually go on to find further success on the silver screen. Who was Lee Corso’s soon-to-be-famous roomie?”
Adam looks absolutely stumped. Cali looks about two seconds away from walking out. I have zero idea who Onetime Football Player Turned ESPN College Football Analyst’s Eventually Famous Roommate could be, but when I glance at Hazel, her eyes are wide, glazed over with what I’m beginning to understand is recognition.
“I know this . . .” she mumbles.
“How could you possibly know that?” Cali asks. “You don’t even like sports.”
Leaning across the table again, Hazel pulls me close. “My dad loved Dolly Parton and any time she was on TV, he’d record it. He used to watch reruns of her show.”
I wait, confident she’s leading us somewhere useful. “Okay?”
“The answer is Burt Reynolds. I know it.”
I sit back in my chair. Burt Reynolds played halfback at Florida State University. She’s fucking right. Hazel Bradford is a genius.
By the time we get to the last round I can’t believe how much fun I’m having. Adam is talking to a girl at the next table and I have a pang of guilt when Cali starts playing on her phone, but Hazel and I are practically on the edge of our seats. According to the scoreboard—and with the final card to be tallied—the top two teams are tied and we need the next question to win. I’ve never wanted a terrible cruise more.
Dick has taken off his sports jacket, and shuffles a set of notecards in front of him, building up the suspense as he prepares to ask the final question.
“All right,” he says, speaking solemnly into the microphone. “This is it. It’s sudden death so we’re going to do this one a little differently. When you have completed your answer, please send a team captain to the stage so we can see if you’re correct and, indeed, the winner. Good luck, everyone.” He takes a deep breath before dropping his eyes to the card.
“The term pronoun covers many words in the English language. For the final question, name eight types of pronouns.”
Hazel puts her pencil to the paper and hesitates for only a beat.
“I only know two,” I whisper, but she’s already writing. A second later, she tears off her sheet, stands from the table, and races up onto the stage.
“Okay, okay.” Dick takes the paper from her hand. “What’s your name?”
“Hazel,” she squawks breathlessly into the microphone. She waves to the crowd and I shake my head, laughing.
“Okay, Hazel, captain of . . .”—he squints at our card—“Stephen Hawking’s School of Religion? Read me your answer.”
“So, Dick—can I call you Dick?”
“Many women do,” he says with a lecherous wink.
“You see, Dick, I’m an elementary school teacher, but I also have a really crummy memory.”
“That’s gotta be rough, Hazel.”
“You’re telling me. Because of this I’m always looking for ways to trick my brain.” Hazel holds up a finger and counts off as she recites, “Getting Pretty Panties Ripped Requires Real Damn Initiative. Or—general, personal, possessive, reflexive, reciprocal, relative, demonstrative, and interrogative!”
Dick pauses to check the answer before taking Hazel’s hand and lifting it over her head in victory. “What a correct, and yet totally inappropriate, response! Hazel the elementary school teacher and her partner win! We have a winner!”
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“I don’t know how you did it.” Emily walks into the living room with a bowl of popcorn in one arm and a bottle of wine in the other. “Not only did you get my brother to a dive bar for a blind date, but you won a shitty cruise, and he had a good time. Clearly you’re the Prude Whisperer.”