There are things you should never let Hazel Callahan do.

Number one: allow her near a stove. You’ve learned the hard way—too many charred cookies and fire alarms screeching into the night during sleepovers. Hazel might look harmless, but give her a whisk and a heat source, and she’s practically an arsonist in training.

Number two: let her anywhere near your boyfriend. It’s not jealousy. Nope, not at all. It’s pure, unadulterated hate. She doesn’t even try to hide it, shooting him daggers with her beautiful blue eyes (fitting, really). He could so much as breathe in your direction, and she’s sharpening her wit—or something sharper, apparently.

It was one thing to bring Hazel along on a date. It was another to bring her on this date—with him. You should’ve known better. Scratch that—you did know better. But he insisted you invite her. Said it was "fine" because he "loved meeting your friends."

You didn’t believe him for a second, but the idea of them, finally getting along, won out. So, naturally, you broke both rules tonight. It started innocently enough. You thought, Why not bring Hazel along?

A dinner date-slash-hangout wouldn’t kill anyone, right? You didn’t expect the withering glares from her or the constant passive-aggressive barbs. And your boyfriend wasn’t helping. His arm practically glued itself around your waist while he smugly ordered food.

Each touch made Hazel's jaw tighten, and when he joked about “all the energy you’d need later,” you could practically hear her teeth grinding over the restaurant chatter.

It was stupid. You were stupid. And now, here you were. At a police station. Hazel, fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie beside you. A silver-haired cop, who looked like he hadn’t slept in years, sighed heavily across the table.