Philly Phanatic

Chapter 1

Hazel Rose-Marie Hollis.

That's my name.

I live in a small town right outside of Philadelphia. This town is the cutest thing, you'd get nostalgia at the thought of it: a coffee shop down the block, a co-op like neighborhood, kids playing outside, a river and a local pool... Everyone knows everyone.

Which has it's downfalls. For instance, Alexander Bell lives down a few blocks over. My family has known his for a very long time -- our grandparents were friends and have lived here, too. Our parents grew up as friends. Unlucky for me, our friendship is fake. In front of our parents, he's a kiss up to me. Behind closed doors, he's a bully-- the first and only bully I've ever experienced before.

This town is known for worshiping everything Philadelphian -- from brand names to sports teams, my God, the sports teams!! It's like all they'd every know. Though they're all brainwashed in their little eastern Pennsylvanian minds, my heart is on the west side. So no Phillies, Eagles, or Flyers for me -- rather, Pirates, Steelers, and Penguins. Though hockey is my one and only love, I still smile inwardly when the other Pittsburgh teams do well.

No one knows of my Pittsburgh Penguins obsession, aside from my uncle, who doesn't mind a bit, and Alexander Bell. I was at a family reunion around Christmastime, and his family also happened to be there. On the big screen, my family was watching a Flyers-Bruins game. The men, with the exception of some of the wives, immersed the room with overbearing cheers. I sat on the couch, quietly scrolling down the endless tweets about the Penguins-Jets game that was on, not that my family would watch it. That's when I felt eyes fall over me. I quickly locked my phone, my head yanking up. No one could find out. If they did, I was dead. I glanced around carefully, then looked upward at a disdainful Alexander Bell. Our "friendship" had been no walk in the park previously, but this only made it worse.

Other than Bell, my Uncle Mark knew about my obsession. He was the only person I could freely mention the names "Sidney Crosby" and "Evgeni Malkin" to without gettingv my head blown off. An avid hockey fan and an ex player, my Uncle Mark coaches the minor league team called the Philadelphia Wolves. The Wolves are the best in the division, and are arguably the best in the league. Alexander Bell plays for them, and, in complete blunt honesty, he's the main contributor to the team's success. He's a power-killing and scoring monster.

Due to my mother and father being on the plane for never-ending business meetings for most of my life, I've never been close with them. They always sent me to Uncle Mark's house, who lived only about fifteen minutes away by foot. It's safe to say that I'm closer to him than with them. Since he coached the hockey team and helped out the rink that they considered to be home ice, most of his time was spent there. Thus, I found myself hanging around the rink with nothing else to do but learn how to ice skate and play hockey at a young age.

Uncle Mark was the highlight of my childhood. I vividly recall those damp Autumn days, with leaves of various colors helplessly scattered across the neighborhood. We went on our merry way into the city and to the Polar Ice Cap Rink. I helped Uncle Mark set up for the boys on the minor league and the junior team, and while waiting for the boys to get their gear on, he taught me from the very bottom, all the way to the peak of playing hockey. As time advanced, I began to practice on my own every morning, then casually getting a coffee from the nearby Starbucks, and watching the team practice. The Polar Ice Cap is practically my second home.

My parents had gone on a business trip to China in attempt to let the company they work for expand internationally. Their bosses thought, "Why not China? They're currently flourishing economically, which means we have potential!" Earlier this year, they have been visiting the Asian country frequently in order to make this thought become a reality.

My parents sell a brand name of clothing named after us, called Hollis. It's mainly for women and men, but they do have a section for teens. The style of their clothing is nice, I'll admit, and I truly don't mind wearing it around. That's a good thing -- because I wouldn't have a choice. The clothing is a bit more edgy rather than what's in right now, which is boho chic. It gives off a "rocker" tone, with a base color of usually black, and sometimes encrusted with studs or spikes.

This Friday morning, I woke up in the guest room of my uncle's house, but since I'm typically the only person that sleeps there, we just consider it to be my room. He even let me redesign it! The weeks when my parents go away on business trips, I always stay at my uncle's house, because I dread being home alone, and since this is where I've been going for a chunk of my life. It's tradition. It's normal. In fact, I have a whole other wardrobe of clothing in my room at his house, which makes me feel a little spoiled.

The room is of a nice size. It's on the second floor. There's a huge window that cuts most of the wall up, stretching from floor to ceiling. Since his second floor is higher up than most of the neighbors, and his house is on a slight hill, a big chunk of town is revealed, including some portions of Philly, if you can concentrate. The walls are of a deep maroon color. The bed is big, a queen size, I believe, with an elegantly sculpted canopy. Heavy black fabric drapes over the mattress, covered in a black and white checkered comforter with a bunch of perfectly-coushioned pillows. White lights are also hung along the edges of the drapery. A black night stand sits closely to the bed. On the opposite side of my bed, there is a flatscreen TV perched against the ceiling, with a couple of game consoles and discs neatly organized under it. A nicely sized dresser also lies in the room, alongside it a closet. And here comes the reason of why I love my uncle: in my room, there is a picture of Sidney Crosby hoisting the Stanley Cup from the 2009 playoffs. The fact that he let me show off this in his household makes my heart melt in all of its glory. It only proves how much he loves me, more so than my mom and dad, and happily tolerates my obsession.

At this point, I wish I could move in with my uncle. I have never felt love between my parents and I.

I passed by my drowsy self in the mirror: the makeup-less girl with a slightly damp, messy fishtail braid cascading down her back, an oversized hoodie with the logo of the Philadelphia Wolves woven into the material, and gray fleece-lined leggings. The iHome dock on the night stand stated the time being "7:30 AM." I slightly overslept, meaning I had to skip out on breakfast if I wanted to make it to school in time. I threw off my clothes and put on fresh ones, then did my morning routine for school.

I crept by my uncle's room as silently as possible, for he remained asleep, and left the house with my bag to board the bus and be on my way to school.