12Usually, I have to settle for listening to them play, listening to the web cast online. It's all right- certainly better than nothing. But it's really nothing compared to being there. That's the biggest problem with following a team from another state- you have to travel to see them play. But tonight, they're playing less than an hour from my school, and I can easily take the train there. So I am.
It won't be as much fun as watching them play on their home rink. But maybe they'll appreciate my attendance. That I'm one more fan in a place where everyone is against them. And maybe he'll notice me.
He, of course, is my favorite player, a lovely boy by the name of Jake. He's the best on the team. He's already been recruited for the NHL, even. Maybe he'll see me behind the glass, grinning at him, and he'll think how pretty I am, or how I'm cheering for him, not anyone else, just him. Then he'll talk to me, invite me out for coffee, ask me for a date, and.
And I'm just dreaming, I know. I do that a lot. Firstly, he'll never see me behind the glass. And even if he did, I'd probably be watching the puck, not him. Then, if he did see me, he wouldn't think how pretty I am- he'd think how bundled up I am. And how would he know I'm cheering for him? He wouldn't get the chance to talk to me and he certainly wouldn't have time for a cup of coffee (nor do I like coffee). And he'd never ask me on a date- never mind that we're several hundred miles apart, and would never be able to meet up to get coffee anyway. Damn.
So I'll be content to watch, scream until I lose my voice, and hope that they win. In the meantime, the train is halfway there, and I start to worry about finding my way to the rink.
I found the rink- it wasn't too hard. There were lots of people heading in that direction, so I just followed the crowd. Once inside, I buy a ticket and survey the seating. My seat is buried behind one of the goals, and that's certainly not where I want to sit. I want to be behind the away team's bench. Which is nearly deserted, for now. So I stand at the top of the seats, waiting for the game to start so I can take one of the seats without fear of getting kicked out by the honest seat holder. But I definitely want to be behind their bench- you get to watch them close up, where you can actually tell who's who without checking their number.
Now they're skating out onto the ice, and I decide to make my move. If they want to evict me from my seat, they can. I don't really care. But I want to be behind the players as they take their seats and get ready. They introduce the players, making no big deal out of the away team (my team!), and I'm sad to see that Jake's not in the starting lineup. Oh well. I yell for the other players just the same. Then there's the National Anthem, blah blah blah, and the game begins.
None of the players bother to look behind them, at the fans sitting behind their bench. So I sit patiently, watching Jake when he's on the bench, and make the obligatory fan noises. Gasps, cheers, an occasional boo. By the end of the period, no one's scored (which is both good and bad). The first period ends, and the teams saunter back toward their locker rooms. A couple of players glance at the fans behind their bench, but Jake isn't one of them. I smile at them just the same, and one smiles back. He looks away, and I resume my staring at Jake. He's really cute, and I'd love to mess with his hair. Run my hands through it, you know?
I glance back at the other player to find him watching me again, grinning. Why's he grinning? Oh no, he must have seen me staring at Jake! He gives me a wink, and turns to Jake. No, no! Don't tell him- I'll look like the biggest fool ever! He says something, and. oh no. Jake turns to look at me. He has gorgeous eyes. A smile flickers across his face, and I try to smile endearingly. How does one smile endearingly? Oh, I don't usually do this. I don't usually chase after guys! Especially ones who probably have a fan girl base the size of my entire school.
Oh. He smiled back. And it looked like an honest smile, not one of those smiles that people give when they want to be nice, or are putting up with you, or something. My smile widens (not by my own doing, I assure you) and he nods before turning and disappearing into the locker room. Oh. Oh wow. Jake, MY Jake, just smiled at me! And I smiled back and didn't make a fool of myself. what is the world coming to? I detach myself from the chair and stagger up to the food court in a daze. After a slice of pizza and a small scoop of chocolate ice cream, I talk some sense into myself. He doesn't even know me. He just smiled, probably to play along with whatever his friend said (who was his friend? I think it was Lee.) That's the end of it- I'll probably live out the rest of my life thinking about the one time that he smiled at me.
I should have said something. I should have told him my name, told him good job, or something! Of course, had I done that, I would have had to lean over the top of the glass so he could hear me. And I probably would've screamed something like "I LOVE YOU!" or something equally embarrassing. And even if I hadn't done that, I most certainly would have fallen off the top of the glass and landed flat on my back on their bench. Talk about humiliating. No, it's best that I just smiled endearingly. Even if he'll never think about me again.
Maybe he is thinking about me. Maybe he's thinking about me right now, as the coach (Bob) gives a pep talk. Maybe he's thinking about the endearing girl behind the scarf, and how she was watching him. no. Best to stop imaging that. I'll only get disappointed.
I return to my seat to find new fans sitting near me. They seem more interested in making out than in the game, so I ignore them. And the second period begins, and the teams return to their benches. Oh, god, what was I thinking? He knows I'm here now, and he'll probably glance at me at least once. and here I am, covered from head to foot in coats and hats and gloves, and looking anything but endearing or attractive! What is wrong with me? Why didn't I check myself in the bathroom, take off my hat and wet down my hair, to get rid of the hat-head I'm POSITIVE I have? What was I thinking?
They warm up, and he doesn't so much as glance in my direction. Ok. That settles it. He doesn't think anything of me, so just let it go and enjoy the game. There. That's better. Now I can relax. They return to their benches, and he's sitting in front of me. That's nice. I always enjoy looking at him. The coach gives them a few last words, and the starting lineup is back on the ice. I'm about to devote my attention to the game when I realize someone's looking at me. I look down. oh god. He's looking at me. He's looking at me! My mind freezes, and I don't know WHAT to do. Luckily, my face twists into a smile, and he smiles back. He has a gorgeous smile. Do something, my brain orders in a panic. Ok, do something. What do I do? Inspiration comes, and I lean closer to the glass. 'Great Job' I mouth, hoping he understands. I feel like I should make a hand gesture, to make the point, but all I can think of doing is a thumbs up, which is so ridiculously stupid. So I simply mouth at him. He seems to understand- he grins and nods, his cheeks turning pinker than they already are. Did I make him blush? Did I just make Jake blush? I could jump for my excitement. He mouths 'Thanks' and I nod, smiling broader. I feel like such an idiot, mouthing words and grinning, but he doesn't seem to care. And if he doesn't, I sure don't.
Oh, he looked away. Well, obviously, he has to play in a minute. It's probably not a good idea to distract players during the game, but. well, honestly, how many chances am I going to get? It's not like I see him when he's not in the middle of a game, right? So I focus on the game, although I notice that he briefly glances at me before jumping out onto the ice. Oh, maybe he likes me. or maybe he just finds me amusing. I don't know.
The game proceeds, and I don't think he's looked back up at me again. Or if he has, I've been too engrossed in the game to notice. That's a good thing, I think- if he looks at me, but I'm too involved in the game to notice, it means I like hockey. He likes hockey. It works. Still no score, and the second period draws to a close. 10 seconds left, and I try to compose myself. What if he looks at me again? I brush the loose hair that escaped from my hat back away from my face, and lower my scarf to reveal more than just my red cheeks, a pair of eyes and a very red nose.
And the period is over. The fans applaud, hurray, and the teams make their way back to the locker rooms. Oh. He's already left the bench. So much for looking good for when he looks at me again. So I rise to watch them trickle off the ice- any chance to check him out is nice, anyway. And. he looked back! He's looking at me again! He holds up a hand, in a wave? He's waving to me! I hold up my own hand, trying not to look like a fool, and resist the urge to wave frantically. He grins. oh, that's a great grin. I smile back, and he turns and disappears. Oh. Wow. I think. I think we're kind of doing something. Flirting, maybe? I'm ecstatic.
To soothe myself, I wander back up to the food court, and get a soda. Not a good idea, as I'm already hyper as all hell from the adrenaline rushing through me. I'm so excited that he's noticed me. I can't even describe it. So I get a soda and a rice krispies treat. More sugar. I return to my seat just in time to see the Zamboni glide off the ice. And now it's time for the third food. That's the best thing about food- it's a great way to take your mind off of things, like male hockey players who happen to be flirting with you.
The teams return to the ice, and I resist the urge to start screaming and jumping around. That wouldn't be smooth. So I sit patiently, applauding, and watch for Jake. Where is he? He's not on the ice, I don't think. no. Where is he? The players return to the bench, and I can only think one thing. WHERE IS HE? Is he injured? Is he not playing this period? Oh god, what if he doesn't come back? I'll be a mess! I'll end up in a mental institution, mumbling about hockey players and smiles and flirting. Oh god.
Suddenly, a lone player skates out of the locker area, and I sigh in massive relief. He was just a little late, that's all. My relief is evident, I'm sure, but all he does is shoot a very brief glance at me before the game starts up again. Well, at least he knows I'm still here. That's good. The game resumes, still scoreless, and he glances at me again. I smile, hoping he notices that I've loosened my scarf to reveal more of my face. He smiles, looking a little worried, and I desperately try to think of something to say. Or do. Or something. Finally I decide to mouth 'Good Luck' to him. I do, and he looks confused for a minute. Great, now he thinks I'm weird or that I can't mouth things properly, or that.
He smiles. He knows what I said! He mouths 'Thanks' again, and I practically beam. He looks as though he wants to say more, but changes his mind. He gives me another smile before retuning to watch the game. I concentrate on the puck. No score. and it's starting to get late into the third period. It may end as a tie. That would suck.
I watch Jake as he skates around on the ice, passing the puck back and forth, playing defense. he's such a great player. I beam just thinking about him. They're back on offense, and they're passing the puck back and forth. Someone takes a shot- nope, the goalie stopped it. They pass some more, try another shot- still nothing. It's getting down to the last few minutes of the game. Another shot, but the goalie deflects it. The puck bounces back onto the ice- and right up against Jake's stick! I jump to my feet as he takes a nanosecond to realize that he has the puck. Before anyone else realizes it, he's taken the shot. and it goes in!
Already on my feet, I start screaming. It's amazing the notes one can hit when one's not thinking about it. I'm sure the couple next to me is deaf now, but that's their own fault. I'm yelling, and cheering, and screaming, and clapping so hard my hands hurt. I'm in the minority- most of the rink is full of people who are not happy about this turn of events. So I yell louder.
Jake gets caught in a pile of his teammates, all of whom are yelling. He finally breaks free and skates over to the bench. I can barely yell, I'm grinning so broadly. He gets high fives and slaps and pats from the players on the bench, and I watch as he reaches the end of the bench. Now he's going to go back to the game, I realize, and every thought of me is going to be gone. Damn it. Something good just had to mean something bad, didn't it? So I give one last yell and resign myself to sitting, unnoticed, in my seat for the next six minutes. But he doesn't skate back onto the ice. He jumps into the bench area, and. oh my god! He's looking at me! HE'S LOOKING AT ME! He holds up one gloved hand, barely feet away from me, and I grin stupidly, holding up my own hand. He reaches over the glass. oh my god, he's REACHING OVER THE GLASS! I extend my hand, and he takes it. He's taking my hand. I can barely breathe from my shock and excitement. And he's squeezing my hand, and with one last grin, he steps back and jumps back onto the ice. The whole exchange took less than a few seconds, but I'm ecstatic.
He just held my hand.
He just came up to me, ME, and TOOK MY HAND.
I think I'm going to have a heart attack.
I think I'm going to pass out. Dead. Right here, behind the glass. Oh my god.
The game resumes, I take my seat, still barely breathing, and I force myself to concentrate on the puck. When he returns to the bench, he sits at the other end, and I can barely see him. So I watch the game. Two minutes left, it's still 1-0. We're still winning. A few close shaves, and with a minute left, we're still winning. Thirty seconds, he's on the ice again, and the score hasn't changed. Ten seconds left. we're going to win! And the buzzer sounds, the game is over, and we WON! I'm on my feet again, screaming. He shot the game-winning goal, the ONLY goal, and he came up to me after it! I think I've died and gone to heaven. I realize I'm losing my voice, and scream louder.
The team is one big pile on the ice, and Bob is shouting, grinning madly, looking a whole lot like I probably do. I scream louder as the rink empties, minus the few of us still screaming and cheering dumbly. The teams shake hands, and I stop screaming. Ok, I'm going to breathe now. He's won, he won the game. Now what? I wonder if he'll disappear into the locker room, never to see or think of me again. He certainly won't recognize me at the next game. Is this it? Is this the pinnacle of our relationship? Was tonight IT?
I mentally slap myself, and decide that I'm being an absolute fool. They finish shaking hands, and file back to the benches to retrieve their gear. My team looks thrilled- the other team looks very unhappy, indeed. Too bad for them. I watch as Jake skates back to the bench and picks up his stuff. From the other end of the bench. Damnit, I'm going to be left standing here like an idiot, while he disappears to the locker room, to party and hook up with some lucky girl. oh, stop it. Just because he's already forgotten about me, doesn't mean I can start bashing him.
Resigned to my fate, I retrieve my scarf from under my seat and prepare to leave. Not that I actually move- I know I won't leave until the players have all disappeared. But I'm ready to. I look back at him, and. oh. He's looking at me again. He's grinning, and I grin back. Maybe he didn't forget about me. Then he's back on the ice, skating away. So much for that. He glances back at me, and holds up a finger before disappearing into the locker rooms. What was that? I'm so confused, I don't know what to do with myself. Well, I might as well sit here- I don't even know when the next train back to school is. Or if there even is one. Oh well. So I sit back down and remove my hat, as I'm now hot and flustered. I smooth out my hair, just in case he does come back, and I realize it's a mess. So I take it out of its bun and roughly brush my fingers through it before pulling it back up.
"Hey." I nearly fall out of my seat. I whirl around to find. oh my god. He's standing behind me. Oh. My. God. I almost faint from shock. He's grinning, he's ditched most of his pads and his helmet, and his hair is sticking up, soaked. Damn. He's hot.
"Hey," I reply, grinning. Uh oh. My voice is almost completely gone. That's not good. "Great game," I croak, clearing my throat and turning red. Why now? Why did I have to scream so long? So loud? I'm finally talking to him, and I've lost my voice! He grins. Great, at least he finds my voice amusing.
"That's the sign of a good fan," he says, and I nearly fall out of my seat again. He sits beside me. Oh my god. I think I'm going to die, right here. And I'm going to go to hell for thinking impure thoughts as I die. Great. It's so worth it, though. "Having no voice after the game." I grin broader, if that's possible, and look down.
"I guess so," I agree, realizing my hands are still tangled in my hair, my hair halfway back into its bun. I decide to finish the job, and quickly tie the rest of my hair up. He watches with interest. He's watching me. Wow. He's watching me.
"You should leave it down," he says suddenly, and I look back at him in surprise. "It's nice," he adds, and I nod mutely, at the same time pulling out the hair tie and letting my hair fall down to my shoulders once again. He smiles, and sits back in the seat. "So, um. sorry," he finally says, grinning sheepishly. "I'm Jake," he introduces, and I laugh.
"I'm Eliza," I reply, my voice a little fuller than it was a moment ago. He extends his hand, and I take it. And nearly die yet again. I'm holding his hand. I'm holding his hand. Oh no. He's let go.
"You probably don't want to come near me," he comments with a dry grin. "I'm soaked, and probably reek." I resist the urge to say that he's hot as hell and he smells like heaven. So I laugh instead.
"It's fine," I reply, and he smiles. He has such a great smile. He has a great mouth. I would love to kiss it. There's a moment of silence before he takes a breath.
"So what brings you to one of my away games?" he questions, and I smile- 'my' away game.
"I go to school about an hour from here," I reply, and he nods, fascinated. He looks fascinated! He's actually interested in me! I think I'm going to die for probably the seventeenth time tonight.
"So what are you doing cheering for us?" he asks with a grin.
"I live about fifteen minutes from your school," I reply. "So when I'm home, I watch all your home games. At school, it's a bit harder." He nods understandingly, and I feel like jumping in his lap and hugging him. He's so delicious-looking. I snap my mind out of my fantasy, and concentrate on him again. Silence. Uh oh. What do I say? How do I break this silence?
"Do you want to come to the party?" I feel like dying for the eighteenth time. He invited me to his party. Someone up there loves me right now.
"Sure. I'd love to," I reply, trying not to sound as if it's the highlight of my life. Which it is. He grins. He's grinning because I agreed! What is going on here? I don't believe it. He moves as if to get up, but seems to think better of it.
"Hey," he says, looking. nervous? He shifts in his seat. "I wanted to, um, thank you, I guess," he continues, looking down.
"For what?" I ask dumbly. What is this, now?
"Well, it's really because of you that I made that goal," he says, and I think I've died for the nineteenth and twentieth times tonight.
"What?" I stammer, my voice failing yet again. He smiles sheepishly.
"You kind of inspired me. oh, this sounds really stupid," he says, laughing. I smile patiently, watching him. "You kind of inspired me to play really well, and I really wanted to make the goal. So, um, the team has you to thank, really." I'm dumbfounded. He hadn't forgotten about me at all, and he'd even scored a goal- because of me! I feel like dying for the twenty-first time. Ok, enough counting how many times I've died. Let's just say a whole lot, and leave it at that. "So thanks," he adds, smiling sheepishly. I smile back.
"Um. Wow," I finally say, and he laughs. I laugh. "Well, you're welcome, I guess. Although I didn't really do anything." He shrugs, grinning at me. Oh god, Jake is GRINNING at ME! What is going on in the world tonight?
"Sure you did," he says in an offhand way, and I know the matter is settled. "So, um, do you want to go to the party?" he questions after a moment, and I nod, practically beaming. Some planets, somewhere, are aligned in some random order that means that for tonight, everything is going my way. Maybe I should go buy a Lotto ticket.
"Yeah. Let's go," I reply, and he grins and rises. I follow, and he holds out his hand. Oh my god, he wants to hold my hand.I almost die yet again. Naturally, I take his hand, and as sweaty and wet as it is, I'm thrilled beyond words. He climbs the stairs, and I follow, and we silently make our way down to the locker room, where there's a loud commotion. We enter, and amongst the players are an assorted group of what looks like parents, coaches and assistant coaches and maybe even a few younger siblings, some of whom can't be more than six.
"And here's the man of the night!" the coach, Bob, announces, catching sight of Jake. Jake grins, his cheeks pink, and holds up his other hand. But he doesn't let go of mine. Oh god. Something is going to happen. I'm going to actually die, or the building is going to explode, or the universe is going to collapse or SOMETHING, because this is far too good to be true.
Bob crosses to Jake and shakes his other hand before turning to me.
"Hi Bob," I say as he makes to introduce himself. He looks surprised, but chuckles.
"This is Eliza," Jake introduces, and I feel like jumping into his arms. He has a wonderful way of saying my name. "She lives back in New Hampshire and comes to all our home games, so she knows all about us," he explains. I feel like blushing, but it's true. Bob smiles at me.
"Well, great to meet you, Eliza," he says before turning back to Jake. "Where do you want to go tonight?" Jake looks thoughtful for a moment.
"There's a Hooters not too far from here!" a random player calls, and I'm glad to see that Jake rolls his eyes as the room laughs.
"There's a popular Italian restaurant not far from here that does parties on short notice," a random person in a suit says, and I figure he must be from the school we're currently at. Everyone nods agreeably, and Jake shrugs.
"Sure. Sounds good," he says, and everyone voices their consent.
"We'll meet at the bus in ten," Bob announces, and everyone runs off. Amazingly, the locker room is now empty, save for Jake and me.
"Hey, can you give me a sec?" he asks, his cheeks pink again. "I've got to change." I barely control my blush, and nod.
"Sure, no problem," I agree, and he disappears with a smile into what I presume to be the showers. I sit on the nearest bench and wait for probably five minutes, at which point he emerges, his hair soaked (from water this time, thankfully) and wearing normal clothes. He looks even more delicious than before.
"Sorry," he apologizes offhandedly, pulling on a warm parka.
"It's fine," I reply, deciding to stay seated on the bench- maybe he would hold out his hand, and we could hold hands again. What did I do to deserve this? I don't usually help old ladies across streets, or contribute time and effort to the homeless. Yet here I am.
Sure enough, once Jake has zipped his coat and pulled on a pair of mittens, he crosses to me and holds out one mitten-clad hand. I could die. I take it, my own gloves covering my hands, and rise. He shoots a grin at me, which I am too thrilled to return, and we head upstairs to meet the bus.
"Hey, um, don't mind the guys," he says as we near the bus. "They'll be loud and obnoxious, but. you know, they're just having a good time." I nod, not at all worried about the other players (most of whose names I already know) but starting to wish I'd brought Tic Tacs. We reach the bus and I follow him onto it. He's still holding my hand. So perfect. How did this happen again?
He collapses into a seat about halfway back, and I slide, slightly more gracefully, in after him. Oh. He's let go of my hand again. Damn. He turns around to talk to one of his teammates, sitting behind us- I think it's Brian. I sit, marveling at my fortune. How did I get here? He turns back, and in the process manages to get an arm around the back of my seat. Oh, that was smooth.
"So you go to school near here?" he questions. I look over at him, doing my best not to blush.
"Yeah. Purchase," I reply, and he nods. "No hockey team, which is why I follow you guys around." He laughs, and I grin stupidly.
"What year are you?" he asks, but before I can answer, he holds a finger to my lips. Oh. Oh wow. Can I just kiss you now? Please? "Sorry. You don't have to answer- you probably want to know something about me, huh?" I giggled. Damn it, I don't giggle. He lowered his finger. Oh. That's sad.
"Well, not really," I reply truthfully with an evil grin. "I mean, I know quite a bit about you. You've got quite a fan following," I point out with a grin. He laughs. I love his laugh.
"Really." I nod. "Like what?" I chuckle. Better than a giggle.
"Well, you're 19, but you turn 20 on. March 28?" I cast a glance at him. He looks impressed. "And you're a sophomore, studying economics. And you're from the city originally, but now you live in Connecticut." I smile at him. He looks amazed.
"Wow." I grin.
"Frightening what's on the internet about you," I comment, and he nods with a laugh. "So, back to me," I reply with a grin. He laughs again.
"Yes, back to you. What year are you?"
"I'm a sophomore," I reply, "and my birthday is June 1, and I'm studying art history. I've lived in New Hampshire my entire life," I add. He raises his eyebrows, his arm sinking off the back of my chair to rest on my shoulders. Oh, I could die. I really could.
"Wow. Am I supposed to remember all that?"
"You should," I tease, and he laughs again. I grin and look away, at our fellow bus mates. They probably aren't so thrilled about my presence, I decide- after all, Jake won the game for them, but he's not even celebrating with them. Oh well. I really couldn't care less what they think.
"Do you mind?" I snap back to look at him, and find him watching me worriedly.
"Mind what?" I ask dumbly. He moved his arm, still resting on my shoulders.
"This?" I laugh. He looks more confused.
"No, not at all," I explain, and he looks relieved.
"Oh, ok. Good." I nod my agreement to this, and our eyes meet for a long moment. Wow. I could get lost in those. He smiles, and I smile before looking away, feeling my cheeks growing pink. Falling for a popular hockey player is not a good idea. Not in any sense, but especially not when he lives several hundred miles away. Damn it, stop thinking, I tell myself.