Page 61 of Puck Me Secretly

I curled up on my side, thinking. The guy had gone out of his way for me. He deserved my honesty.

Me: I came home early and fell asleep in front of a movie.

Max: What time?

Me: 10 PM

Max: What happened to your date?

Me: I was with my girlfriend and she needed to leave early.

I lay there for a long moment, wondering if he’d text back.

Max: So, no date?

Me: No date. How was your date?

Max: I wasn’t on a date.

Me: Didn’t look that way to me

Max: I came home alone

I smiled. Now that made me happy.

Me: Night

Max: Night

I satin the executive box with Dad and watched our fifth regular game of the season. I had packed my bags and tonight I would travel with the team for their first set of away games. Dad had accompanied me and the team for all our pre-season games, so this would be the first time I traveled alone with the team.

We were only three weeks into the regular season, and Max was the second highest scoring player in the NHL league. Although he single-handedly ensured we won most of our games, the Vancouver fans refused to accept Max. Tonight he had already scored two goals, but the fans refused to show their appreciation. I studied the sea of faces. There were no homemade signs in the crowd, scribbled with his name or number, nor did they chant his name like they did the other players.

“Come on, go, go,” Dad yelled at Max.

I sat clenched and tight, watching as Max took advantage of his breakaway. With speed he moved up the ice, weaving past the opposing defense.

Slap!

Max scored his third goal of the game, and the goal siren sounded across the stadium.

A hat trick.

In the rare event of a hat trick, when a player scores three goals in one game, fans show their appreciation by throwing hundreds of hats onto the ice. In response, the player would skate around the ice, pick up a couple of hats with his stick and bask in the love of the crowd. Dad and I watched in horrified silence as seven measly baseball hats drifted to the ice. Seven hats was worse than insulting. It was the fan's declaration that they didn’t like Max.

In response, Max didn’t even acknowledge the hats. With an indifferent expression, he skated back to the bench. The Jumbotron flashed his accomplishment, and the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, trying to drum up enthusiasm, but the crowd remained mute.

Dad and I exchanged glances.

“They hate him,” he stated.

“They’re stupid.”

Dad shook his head in disgust. “What does Katrina say?”

“She wants to get him in front of the media.”

That was an understatement. Katrina was relentless in her pursuit to get Max back in front of a camera. She emailed me, messaged me or phoned me daily about getting Max’s media ban lifted.

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