Frozen Four | Teen Ink

Frozen Four

September 25, 2011
By allycat8213 BRONZE, Washington, Pennsylvania
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allycat8213 BRONZE, Washington, Pennsylvania
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Author's note: I'm a girl who plays boys hockey, and have been trying for years to find a book that deals with something similar. Failing to find one, I decided someone should hear the story of the girls playing with the boys. While this is still fiction, I based it very loosely around the team I played with in high school and the way my teammates' influence shaped my game and my life.

The first time I met Chelsea Delfina she was standing in front of a room full of high school boys in a bikini. I’d gone to school three years under her our entire lives, and the girl was nothing short of a legend. In fact, I’d be lying if I said that when I chose to play hockey three years before I met her, she wasn’t a partial influence. But none of the stories prepared me for the experience that was Chelsea in person. I walked into the living room my new team was packed into, trying not to look shocked when a kid I didn’t recognize moved one of the pillows off the couch to make room for me. I sat down silently, pulling my legs up onto the couch. From what I’d gathered, a lot of the kids had just gotten back from a week at the lake, and they were now carefully examining Chelsea Delfina’s ass. “So let me get this straight,” a tall skinny kid said from the corner, leaning forward around three or four other guys to address Chelsea, “Eric bruised your ass?” She rolled her eyes, acting not even remotely entertained by his attempt at humor. “He was driving the boat, Debra. And you’re not funny.” “I can’t even see what we’re looking at,” the kid sitting beside me offered, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. Another senior, whom I recognized from his bright orange hair and other distinguishing ginger characteristics as being known only as Red, leaned forward from a few kids down to shoot my neighbor a smile and said, “I’m surprised you didn’t say, ‘Bend over, I’ll show you ass bruises.’” The kid beside me laughed, letting out some noise between a seal bark and a high pitched squeal before responding, “I save those jokes for you, hot stuff.” Chelsea scoffed at all of them, rolling her eyes and setting her hands on her hips. Then, without any warning, she turned around and hiked up her bikini bottom, exposing not just two nasty looking bruises, but most of her amply sized ass as well. Just as she did, a tall, tan, dark haired and ridiculously attractive kid walked back into the living room, holding a can of Pepsi and wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks. “Jesus Christ, Delfina, my parents are here.” “Chill, Borden, I’m just showing the boys here the damage left by our week at the lake. If you don’t want my semi-bare ass in your living room, maybe you shouldn’t cause me physical pain.” He leveled a playful gaze at her before shooting back, “Well your ass is old news, I’d just rather my father not hit me because you suck at tubing.” “You got those bruises tubing?” I asked, the words coming out before I even realized that I wasn’t part of this conversation at all. I expected an awkward silence to follow, during which these kids would try to figure out who I thought I was, speaking when not spoken to, but without missing a beat, Chelsea Delfina just looked at me and started talking. “I got the right one tubing. Eric Borden, king of the women beaters, almost killed me.” “For the last time,” Eric interjected, trying to defend himself, “it was an accident. And when did I become king of the women beaters, exactly?” “This summer when you knocked that girl’s helmet off,” Red told him, raising his eyebrows and shooting him a “you remember” look. Eric rolled his eyes, conceding defeat, something I’d see him do a lot in the coming months as far as Red and Delfina were concerned. “Alright, fine, but I never intentionally hurt Delfina. She got that second bruise her damn self.” “Banging McSan?” someone asked, eliciting laughter from the rest of the group. “Ha-Ha, you’re all so funny. It was an ill advised slip ‘n slide manufactured from a tarp and a shit ton of lake water and laundry soap. What are we sitting here talking about my bruises for, anyway, I thought we came in here to watch a movie?” Eric held up a DVD case between two fingers, flashing it at Chelsea, “That’s what I left to go get, super genius. Ladies and Gentleman, for your viewing pleasure, Miracle on Blu-Ray.” And then, almost magically, the entire room went silent, stopped screaming at each other, and settled in for two and a half hours of great hockey. When the movie was over, Chelsea yawned, stretching her arms over her head and reaching for her clothes on a nearby end table. “What’re you doing?” Red asked her, his voice accusatory and a little tense. She shot him an annoyed looked, shimmying back into her jean shorts, “Putting my clothes back on. Problem, Red?” “Are you leaving?” “Could I leave even if I wanted to? Delfina rule number five: team nights are all night.” “Damn straight,” he agreed, ignoring her when she rolled her eyes yet again at their ridiculousness. “Unless you’re Debra over there, who’s going home tonight to study,” the kid beside me smiled, pointing at the tall scrawny kid from before. The skinny kid held up his hands defensively, already defending against the screaming that was about to follow, “Sorry I have a future ahead of me. We can’t all waste as much intellect as Chelsea Delfina.” “Debra, f you,” she said, throwing it over her shoulder casually, like it was nothing. At that, Red turned around, an amused smile on his face as he reminded Chelsea, “Hey, we don’t use that kind of language on this team. Coach Tough Kid Dave says so.” “Coach Tough Kid Dave can suck a d,” she shot back. “We all also can’t suck as much d as Chelsea Delfina,” Debra contributed, and I took a breath, bracing for the World War III- sized attack I was sure was coming. Chelsea, though, didn’t even flinch, just smiled and rolled her eyes at him. I’d hung out with some of them before, and I’d been practicing with the team for a few weeks, but she was new to me. There’d been a lot of talk about her, but she’d been on vacation for most of the month of August, when I joined this team full of hooligans. That night at Eric’s, though, she lived up to most of their talk: intelligent, insanely funny, and shockingly beautiful. A few hours later, when everyone was settling down in front of the TV again in the massive living room, she walked out, returning a few minutes later with an armful of pillows and blankets. She threw them methodically to the boys strewn all over the room, before draping herself over Red and Eric, dramatically throwing herself onto them. “Dibs couch.” Red, whose short fuse I was already starting to notice, started protesting immediately. “Bullshit, Delfina,” he snapped, “You can’t call a couch Eric and I are already sitting on.” “Um, weird, because I just did,” she shot back, smiling brightly at his annoyed expression. It was the first of many fights between the two of them. They never ended in any hard feelings, and yet they went on forever, sometimes lasting days or even entire weeks at a time. That first night, the compromise, brokered by Eric, as it always was, was to share the couch, a plan everyone whispered would go south very quickly. Which was easy to predict, as 6’ 4’’ Red didn’t leave much space for Chelsea’s 5’ 11’’ frame on Eric’s short couch. And, sure enough, the silence of fifteen teenagers trying to sleep kept being broken by such gems as, “Fuck you, Red, get your disgusting feet away from me,” “Hey whore, could you please stop trying to rape me?” and my personal favorite, “Seriously, why is some part of your body continuously touching my dick?” “Enough!” Eric yelled after that one, standing up from where he was laying next to the kid they called Debra. He walked over to them calmly, grabbing Chelsea’s blanket and rolling her easily off the couch. Just as she was screaming, “Ow, asshole,” he grabbed Red by both ankles, dragging him off the couch and onto the floor beside Chelsea. Then, with a satisfied smirk on his face, he stretched out on the couch himself, fluffing the pillow behind his head. Chelsea threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face before saying, “What the f were you thinking?” “That you’re obnoxious, he’s whiny, and I want to sleep.” “Not what I meant. Retard over there has two bad knees, you can’t just grab him up by his pale skinny ankles,” she said, nodding over to Red, who was sprawled out dramatically on the floor, taking up too much space, with his elbow in the “bend over, I’ll show you” kid’s ribs. Eric just rolled his eyes, muttering, “Delfina, go to sleep,” before rolling over and falling asleep himself. It was nothing really, a simple exchange and explosion between friends, but I sat up that night thinking about them and their team dynamics. And for the first time in my entire life, I understood what it was like to be surrounded by a group of people who lived for something more than your average high school bullshit.

The author's comments:
I'm expecting some mixed reaction to this one, because I'm not crazy about it myself, but I want some feedback before I do any serious editing. I hope it was obvious, but in case I am a massive failure, the narration here changes to Chelsea's boyfriend Noah.

They say that the fastest way to ruin a relationship is to think that the person you’re with will change. While I’ve always agreed with that, in high school all I really wanted from our relationship was for Chelsea Delfina to learn to f*ing knock. “Hey there,” she whispered, coming up behind me as I sorted hockey laundry on my dining room table. I let out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling and shaking my head. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.” “I was just in the neighborhood-“ “You live forty five minutes from here.” “- and I wanted to say hi. Nice to see you, too, Noah,” she said, not even remotely fazed by the sharp edge to my voice. “Hello, babe, I’m glad you’re here,” I told her sarcastically, turning to smile at her. She smiled back, knowing, just like she always did, that life never ceased to go her way. “So much better. So, what crawled up your ass, anyway?” I ignored her, throwing my brother’s jerseys across the table and shoving a pair of socks into my laundry bag. She knew damn well what my problem was, the greatest indicator of it was parked in front of her in my driveway. Still, though, Chelsea loved her games, and she played them forever. “Personally,” she began, pulling herself up to sit on the dining room table, her tan legs dangling off the edge, “I don’t get why your brother being home needs to be this gigantic deal.” “Ah, the way you say that so innocently, you’d think you don’t notice or enjoy the way he flirts with you shamelessly,” I told her, raising my eyebrows at her and the ease in which she lied. Sometimes I didn’t even understand what kept me coming back to her. She was complication personified, and dramatic, and ten billion other things that should’ve been unappealing. She turned her light blue eyes on me, reminding me what it was I kept loving about her as she brushed her long blonde waves out of her face and smiled, “Alright, so sue me, Noah, I like attention. Something I’d think you might’ve figured out by now.” I wrapped my arms around her, leaning down to kiss her and whisper, “Oh trust me, I’ve known forever.” She pushed me back, stubbornly crossing her arms across her chest. I didn’t even try to defend myself, rolling my eyes and going back to my laundry. Even though I knew she hated silence and that she’d be the one to break it first, I glanced over at her just as I was adding more s*** to Nick’s pile of jerseys and socks, asking casually, “So how was team night?” “Same as always. Perfect. How was big McSan family dinner?” “Same as always. Hell.” She looked over at me then, tapping her nails on the glass of the table impatiently as she suggested, “Sounds like you could use a break. The guys want me to participate in an Xbox NHL thing later, but we could get something to eat first.” “You know, for a second there, I thought you just might invite me to something involving your team,” I said, trying to make her believe I was actually annoyed. “I’ll take you around my team anytime. I mean, assuming you’re cool with dying and all.” I leveled a gaze at her, zipping my laundry bag and walking it out to the garage. “We don’t even play each other!” I threw over my shoulder, opening the door and trying not to let my mother’s obnoxious, ankle biting dog out. “Doesn’t matter. To them, it’s still sleeping with the enemy,” she answered easily, chewing on her thumb nail when I walk back in, grabbing my keys from beside her on the table. “Well, then the solution’s simple,” I explained, opening the passenger door for her, “they should hate you, not me. You’re the one breaking Delfina Rule whatever, I’m just an innocent bystander.” “First of all, my dear little Noah, they couldn’t hate me. That would violate, like, five Delfina rules. Secondly, never sleep with the enemy is rule twenty two.” I glanced over at her, pausing for the delicate maneuvering that was backing out of my driveway when she parked halfway across it. “There are really twenty two Delfina Rules?” “Not even close, but I numbered that one after that skanky girl who slept with Dirty McGreasy two seasons ago.” I laughed at her, shaking my head as she cranked the air conditioning, seemingly oblivious to her own joke. “You really still call him that?” “Either that or super senior, both are acceptable.” “You’re a b****,” I laughed, turning onto the highway and trying not to be distracted as she cranked the radio and surfed through every channel she could possibly find. Chelsea had picked up so many bad habits from her lifetime friendships with Red and Eric, but the only one I really minded was her absolute disregard for distracting drivers. The way she saw things, if she could handle the shenanigans Red pulled in the front seat of her car, I should be able to deal with her. But after almost two years, I still hadn’t totally mastered it. After a few minutes, she turned down the music and leaned across the console to put her lips to my ear. “Wanna hear a secret?” she whispered, her voice low and seductive. “Don’t I always?” She drew a hot breath against my neck, smiling as she said, “My team doesn’t want to kill you. They wouldn’t care if I brought you around everywhere. But I don’t mix my two worlds. You never know what kind of s*** could go on if that hockey magic mixes with the McSan magic. The world would probably just implode.” “You don’t really believe that. We hang out with Red and Eric all the time. It’s the rest of your team you keep for yourself. And that’s just because you don’t share well.” She sat back, rolling her eyes, but I saw something in her face that said she almost wanted to smile, that I had it oh so right. I just shook my head, smiling easily. Chelsea did that all the time, refusing to admit that I was right but giving it away in a subtle little way. But then again, she also hated being predictable. So she turned around and said, “You know what, f*** it, you’re coming to play NHL with us.”

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This book has 2 comments.

on Sep. 22 2012 at 12:20 am
allycat8213 BRONZE, Washington, Pennsylvania
1 article 0 photos 1 comment
Thank you so much, for reading and for actually enjoying it! I posted it so long ago I was really surprised someone had finally commented. haha

on Sep. 13 2012 at 3:36 pm
BluBirdWriter13, Nowhere, Kentucky
0 articles 0 photos 33 comments
Amazing. I love this story