Philly Phanatic

Chapter 3

"So," I paused momentarily, as if I were just recollecting my thoughts, then continued, "what you're telling me, is that you hoarded maple syrup into America."

"Quite possibly."

I gave out a short giggle. A small silence followed up, but we arrived at the locker rooms anyway.

I opened the doors and directed him to lockers that were not yet opened. He opened up one of them and sat on the bench, taking his sneakers off. I leaned against the wall.

To continue the conversation from where we previously left off, I began to ask, "What school--"

"You ask a lot of questions, Hazel," Damien interjected. I was taken aback by his sudden comment. He hoisted his legs over the bench, one of his elbow pressing into his thigh, and his chin propped up by his fist. "You know a good handful about me, but I know zip about you. It's my turn to ask. You say you play hockey, eh?"

The way he took lead of this "conversation" threw me slightly off balance. His voice was at it's loudest from what I've heard of him thus far. I had no intentions of starting a war with this guy, especially since I had just met him, though he did get under my skin at this given moment. Flustered, I quietly mumbled, "Uh, yeah."

His eyes pinned mine to the wall, silently interrogating me. My chest became warmer as blood rushed through it, an uneasy wave of heat creeping up my neck. Those green orbs of his are truly gorgeous. I've never seen any such pair as mesmerizing his. "How good are you?"

I quickly glanced up at the clock hanging over the door frame. "I'd love to show you," I said, with a tad bit of sass, "but practice starts in a few minutes."

As if the timing couldn't have been anymore precise, the door opened. Damien slowly sat up at the sound of this, both of our heads turning to see who entered.

Bright blonde hair, piercing, dark brown eyes, pale skin, and a smug aura forever stapled to his body, Alexander Bell entered the locker room. His glare hit me first, then softened up as they drifted to Damien. He disregarded me. "A new face, huh?" He walked over to us. "Alexander Bell," he said, extending a hand.

"Damien Hawthorne," he shook his hand.

"Position?"

"Center."

Alex leaned back a little, walking towards his locker. I casually twirled my hair with my finger, pretending to not pay attention to his presence.

"Let's see if you're well enough to play on my line," he said with swagger. "I'm a right winger."

"We'll see," Damien said, a bit irritably. Tension surfaced from Damien's side, but Alexander was too shallow to notice.

"I'll see you later," I whispered quietly to Damien.

I could sense Alexander about to say something inappropriate, but he simply turned away into his locker after giving me what seemed like a long glare.

Damien gave me a nod.

Before the doors closed behind me, I heard Alexander say my name, some mumbling following it. To the new kid. The doors proceeded to shut loudly.

What did he say? Did he just badmouth me? Probably. It was too muffled for me to decipher what he had to say, but I didn't turn back. A shiver ran down my spine. Why couldn't I bring myself to walk back in there?

***

During practice, the guys were working on their penalty killing strategies. Damien was tested on the defensive unit, and I saw how brutally well he played. His strides were in sync with offensive skaters, and he was extremely oppressive as the power players tried to drive the puck into his zone. I sat on the benches next to our back up goaltender, Brian, and was mystified by the skill of Damien. I took a sip of my coffee, which was still warm, managing to finish it. I looked at the cup, which was now empty, but did not remain unhappy when my eyes rose back up to the ice.