Philly Phanatic

Chapter 2

At the sound of that last bell, I jumped out of my seat and darted for the door as quickly as I could. On days like these, when there's practice, I get to the rink as early as I can to warm up and set up. Skating around the rink is a habit that is definitely not worthy of being broken, plus, it's very therapeutic -- especially with the hassle of school and petty drama that goes on. It's tiring.

After what seemed like a long bus ride, I hopped off and made my way into the train station. The ice rink is in the city, meaning its a process to get there.

Luckily for me, I was early enough to get a seat on the train. As skin as I sat down, my iPhone played a concise tone, signaling a new text message. I unlocked the phone in order to view it. It was from Uncle Mark, and it stated: 'Come to rink ASAP!!!!' I pondered for answers as to why he wants me to arrive quickly, but I couldn't come up with anything that made sense. He never asks me to hurry up, unless he needs help with paperwork and phone calls. Craving a Starbucks, I replied, 'Can I at least grab a coffee?' Momentarily, I received a 'Yes.'

My stop wasn't for another ten minutes, so I took my earbuds out, plugged the jack in, and shoved them into my ears. The school week seemed to be too long, despite only being late October. I lucked out for this weekend, though, and barely got homework. I finished it in class, anyway -- so truly, I had no school responsibilities for a couple of days.

After drowning myself in loud rock and alternative melodies, I reached my stop and hopped out of the train. Many side conversations filled Philadelphia's air, as usual. There's no surprise in this, considering it is rush hour.

I snaked my way through the small crowd of tourists and business men, arriving at a stairway. I exited the train station, heading to Starbucks.

***

As soon as the door to the rink creaked open, my uncle shouted, "Hazel, is that you?" He always had an antsy persona. He wanted to get things done, especially when he was excited. He was also cool, collected, and lenient, which was also a wonderful addition. He's the all-in-one, best uncle -- and best friend. I could talk to him about anything, even guys, and he was OK with it. Uncle Mark gave fantastic life advice, and has helped me out with many adversities I faced in my life so far. However, he doesn't know about Alexander Bell, since he's on the team and we're "civil" in front of him.

"Yeah, coming!" The heavy doors shut.

I stood against the doorway of his office. There sat Uncle Mark in his black leather chair (which I live to sit in); his black hair, still thick, with some strands woven in with them; he sat up straight, the pads of his fingers holding his palm up against the desk, and papers in his other hand.

A figure sat in the chair in front of him with a long black bag and Baur skates next to him. The individual had dark brown waves that fell midway down his neck. He turned his head, revealing a glowing and smooth face. His only imperfection was the scar that crept it's way toward his eye diagonally. His piercing green eyes met my light brown ones, but fell to my feet, floating up again quickly. My body twitched a little, feeling uncomfortable. I took a small sip of my warm Toffee-Nut coffee and tried not to make an awkward face when the flaming liquid glided against my tongue.

"This is Damien Hawthorne," Uncle Mark introduced. "This is my niece, Hazel Hollis. She helps the team out during practices, and travels with us as well." His eyes returned to me. "He's going to be joining us for practice today, and for the rest of the year."

This took to me as a shock. We usually get requests to join the team weeks in advance, not right on the spot. We typically evaluate new guys, but maybe he was evaluated before I got here, which is a little weird because my uncle goes to the rink only a half hour before I get out of school. Now I know why he wanted me to rush -- to get acquainted with the new guy. My uncle appeared to be a little tense, but he masked it well. He was just as flustered as I was.

But he wasn't flustered over the fact that this kid is *really* cute. And built, too. Though I can't see it from under his hoodie, I just know he is. I'm unaware of what caused his scar, but it suited his demeanor. So far.

"Awesome," I said, trying to keep composure. "It's nice to meet you, Damien." I held out my hand which was ten times smaller than his.

He shook my hand. "Likewise." His voice was seemingly deep and smooth, almost bringing a sense comfort to my ears. I ignored the gushy feeling I had for him; I wasn't interested. Plus, it's a little awkward for these thoughts to arise for any guy on the team. Sometimes, I wonder why I don't fall head over heels for some of our players -- a lot of them are cute and funny, but I'm not attracted to them. I never was.

"Hazel, why don't you get him set up in the locker room?" My uncle suggested, though I didn't exactly have a choice of whether to accept or decline.

"Sure thing," I said, putting my bag down next to his desk. I kept a steady gaze with Uncle Mark, wanting to ask a million questions. He understood what I was trying to convey, somehow, as I noted by his small reassuring nod. With that, I turned to Damien, who stood up, hoisting the long bag over his shoulder, and carrying his skates in his hand. "Let's go," I said in order to prevent an awkward silence.

"Okay," he replied, soft-spokenly.

"Be ready in about ten minutes," my uncle ordered. "That's when the guys start coming in."

"Yes, sir," Damien answered. "Sorry for the unexpected application, and thank you, again." He extended a free hand to him, and my uncle shook it. The way he sounded out 'sorry' was quite different from the way I say it, and my uncle. He had to be from Canada.

"My pleasure." I could read my uncle like a book; if he could, he'd add in, 'Better be.'

I lead Damien out of the room, and we made our way down the hallway. "So, Damien," I began, "how long have you been playing ice hockey for?"

"For as long as I can remember," he said.

"Me, too," I said, trying to sound a little enthusiastic to set a comfortable mood. "Are you new to these parts?"

"Yeah, I just moved here. About twenty-five minutes away, by bus," he explained. Yep, Canadian.

In order to validate, I asked him, "Where are you from?"

"Toronto, born and raised." He appeared prideful, standing a little more straight.

"I hope you don't get disappointed, but Philadelphia lacks an abundance of maple syrup."

~~~

A/N: it's so bad but I hope you enjoyed it. Have a nice day (: