by Sara H Ney
And I’ve got a big one. If you want to see it, all you have to do is smile pretty and ask nice.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 15, 2014 at 11:37:26 PM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: Seriously?
You’re disgusting. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. In any case, leave me alone. I’m in the middle of getting picked up by your hot friend. Total panty melter.
- C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 15, 2014 at 11:40:57 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: MEH.
Neve isn’t man enough for you. Ask him about his dolphin figurine collection if you don’t believe me. I dare you. Besides, I’m not drunk - what would give you that idea? My sopping wet shirt full of beer? Don’t lie and say you weren’t admiring my masculine physique before when my shirt started sticking to my chest.
I saw you.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 15, 2014 at 11:45:19 PM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: (Rolling my eyes)
This conversation is ridiculous. I’m not going to stand here EMAILING someone from across the room that I can’t even stand talking to in person. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 15, 2014 at 11:47:09 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Ouch.
That hurt my feelings a little.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
Chapter Four
Cecelia
“How annoying. He is seriously starting to interfere with her being single.” - Jenna, my roommate Molly’s best friend.
Okay. I’ll admit it. After that last email last night, I feel kind of bad. I sit up in bed and grab my phone to check the time.
8:27 on a Saturday morning...
Ugh.
Then, since my phone is already in my hand, I tap open the last message from Matthew Wakefield.
That hurt my feelings a little...
Trust me. I’ve dissected the reasons why I’m giving him the brush off a million times, and here are a few of the reasons I came up with:
1. He is Molly’s brother. There’s, like, a Girl Code about liking a friend’s brother somewhere... isn’t there?
2. He is an ass.
3. Matthew is a hockey player for a professional hockey team. So out of my league, on so many levels.
4. Better to reject than be rejected.... Right? I mean. Could he possibly be interested in someone like me, other than to drive me insane?
5. Please see #2
Despite all of these things, I do the opposite of what any self-respecting girl would do: I pick up my phone and email Matthew back - even knowing that it’s probably not necessary (him being a dickhead and all) but nonetheless he is my roommate’s brother, and I suddenly have a stab of conscience.
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 8:32:07 AM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: This is awkward.
I’m sorry my last comment was so rude last night. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 8:47:17 AM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Apology accepted.
Hurt my feelings? I’m a guy - our feelings don’t get hurt. We get pissed.
MSW
PS: Still. Apology accepted.
Sent from my iPhone
For a while, I’ll be honest: I sit in stoney silence cross legged on my bed, completely fixated on the tiny screen of my cell, not quite knowing what to do or how to respond. I open and close the email app several times, reading and rereading his words, rolling them around in my head.
Should I respond? What do I say? Is there any way possible to play it cool?
My bedroom door is ajar, and I can hear Molly shuffling around the kitchen - I crane my head and try to get a visual on her through the small crack in my door, catching a brief glimpse of her bending to dig a pan out of the cabinet, still in her pajamas. I lean back against my headboard, frustrated, and blow out a puff of air, which sends the hair in my face flying in soft wisps.
How do I get myself into these messes?
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 9:11:22 AM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: RE: Apology accepted.
Okay. I guess I won’t feel so bad then. I was wrong to assume you even had feelings in the first place. My bad.
- C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 9:15:48 AM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Hitting on all cylinders this morning?
I’m going to ignore that AND your sarcasm. Too early in the morning and I give zero fucks about your crappy attitude.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
Whoa.
Again, I sit stunned on the bed.
A few emotions wash over me all at once before I can stop or analyze them: Embarrassment. Shame. Anger.
Why are things always going from bad to worse with Matthew? One minute we’re having fun and flirting in our sick, twisted way - and the next he’s cursing and calling me sarcastic.
And not in a good way.
It’s not really a situation I know how to deal with. Typically, I get along with everyone - well, except maybe my sister growing up (but she hardly counts since she’s family). And okay - I’ll admit there was this guy once at the public library I argued with over the only copy of Othello (I needed it for a class at the time)... but in my defense: he wouldn’t leave me alone, kept following me around... pestering me for the damn thing.
Which I already pointed out: I. Needed.
So yeah. There was that guy.
Confused, I stare up at my ceiling. Just when I think maybe Matthew and I might be getting along, I say something dumb and he takes it the wrong way.
Sheesh. Is it my fault he’s so sensitive?
I was really hoping that at this point we could get along - You know, for Molly’s sake (not because I think he’s cute or something). One minute we’re bantering and the next we’re bitching at each other.
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 9:45:03 AM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: So this is awkward...
Okay. That last email threw me for a loop. I feel like I should apologize again for being such a...Ugh. I can’t even say it. You get what I’m trying to say right? Without my having to spell it out? I think for Molly’s sake it would be great if we could get along. I’m really not as bad as you probably think I am. If it’s any consolation, you’ve seen me both times at my worst. I mean - can you say “smudged eyeliner?” - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
The inbox on my phone dings.
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 9:46:12 AM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: RE: So this is awkward...
Smudged eyeliner.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
Then, just as I’m about to get pissy and send him a tart reply, my inbox dings again.
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 9:48:45 AM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: RE: RE: So this is awkward...
I bet that last message pissed you off, didn’t it? LOL. I think I have you all figured out by now - Are you an only child by any chance? One hundred buck says that you are. Oh wait - you already owe me one Benjamin, you probably can’t afford to pay me two.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 9:53:09 AM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: RE: RE: RE: So this is awkward...
Wow, you think you’re pretty clever, don’t you? Never mind, don’t answer that. Actually, smart ass, I am NOT an only child. I have a younger sister who’s going to be an incoming freshman at Nebraska (Go Cornhuskers!). So now the parents have one daughter working on her Masters and one just entering another Big 10. My dad’s pretty excited about that. PS: You’re never getting your money so you might as well give up. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 9:55:49 AM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: WHOA
Holy shit, another actual paragraph. Don’t stop, you’re on a roll today. And I’m impressed - you’ve only been bitchy once today, which is a vast improvement from the other night at Rangers.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 9:58:04 AM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: Kudos to us both.
Yeah, and you’ve managed not to be a complete ass. Still an ass, of course, but maybe not so douchie... don’t you go changing my mind either. I’m a tough nut to crack. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
I am laying on my bed now, spread out on my back, phone propped in the air. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but I have such a big grin on my face I have to bite my bottom lip to suppress a giggle.
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 16, 2014 at 10:01:12 AM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Tough nut?
Challenge accepted.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone
Oh shit.
Chapter Five
Matthew
“How do you stop from choking on the bullshit coming out of your mouth?” - Weston McGrath
I watch the puck wiz by me through the glass, letting the whistle between my lips fall out of my mouth and hit the front of my sweatshirt with a soft bounce. Leaning against the short wooden wall of the rink, I prop my elbows and let my eyes roam the ice, impressed with what I see. From my vantage point on the bench, the young players skating laps in front of me are in top form today, each member transitioning from forward skating to backwards skating with ease.
I keep my eye trained on Elliot Nelson, an eighth grader with a lot of talent for both defense and offence, but who might be a little too passive aggressive to pull off a starting position in the center of the rink when the puck drops.
Weston skates circles around them all, his skates slicing the ice in fluid movements, shouting out critiques and encouragement. I hate to admit it, but he’s a damn good player and is turning into a damn good coach. He glances over at me and taps his wrist.
I nod and grab the whistle, raise it to my lips, and blow hard to emit a shrill shriek loud enough to garner everyone’s attention, forcing them to look over.
I take my forefinger and circle it through the air, my sign for “let’s wrap it up and bring it in.”
I’ll be honest: When Molly offered Weston and I up for this volunteer position - coaching at-risk middle school boys enrolled in the after school program where she works - at first I balked. Actually, Weston and I both did because we just had to be difficult assholes; you know, not thinking of anyone but ourselves... No way did we want to spend any more time with each other than we already had to: Shit, we see each other enough. Plus, didn’t I already mention that I’m stuck with him on any road trips I’m available to take?
Yeah. Exactly.
We’re selfish bastards.
But. After countless lectures from my sister (she made some pretty valid points) we both caved. Me because she had a point about giving back to the community that was so supportive of my hockey career, and Weston...
Well, he caved because he’s a goddamn pussy, but mostly because Molly threated to cut him off - if you know what I mean...
Long story short: We’ve been coaching this group for a few weeks now - the Madison Lightening - and not to brag, but they’ve gotten pretty damn good.
Weston ushers the small motley crew to the boards surrounding the ice, steps up next to me by the players bench. He nods his head and holds out his clip board. I glance at it briefly before clearing my throat. “Okay guys, nice work. Nelson, we wanna see you work on getting a little more aggressive.” I point to a kid named Stewart Rosenthal. “Stu, next time someone passes you the puck, don’t hog it. Keep your eyes watchful and when someone is open, get rid of it. If we see you do it again in a game, we’re pulling you off the ice. Everyone else, get lots of rest and don’t eat a bunch of crap.” Weston looks pointedly at a chubby kid named Phil. “We have a game against the Racine Avengers next week and they’re ranked 8 and 3 - we have our work cut out for us.”
Weston takes over. “Okay guys. We only have one more practice before our game, so make it count. Be here an hour early.” He glances at me, raising his eyebrows at me with a questioning smirk on his face. “Anything else Coach Wakefield?”
Smart ass.
“Nope. Go hit the showers. See you next week.”
The kids skate off towards the locker room, some more skillfully than others. One kid actually smashes into the wall and almost biffs it. I make a mental note to work with him on the angle of his knees. Shit. I have a feeling I’m going to have to start all over with him on the fundamentals of hockey: As in, basic stances and walking on skates.
I sigh. I’ve seen enough of the 2-Foot glide for the day.
“I take it you just saw Dicky Winters almost take a digger?” Weston asks.
“Dickey Winters? I though his name was David.”
“It is. Dickey is my special pet-name for him because he’s slow.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Weston shrugs. “Yeah, so?” He sits on the long bench where the substitute players sit during games and begins unlacing his skates before glancing up at me. “So what’s the deal with you and CeCe?”
“Nothing. There is no ‘deal.”
“That’s not what Molly says.”
“My sister needs to mind her own business.”
“Don’t get defensive man, I’m only repeating what she told me.”
“What exactly did she tell you?”
He shrugs again and bends his head to loosen the laces on his other skate. “Apparently nothing, since there is no deal, right?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“I can’t help it. It’s my special brand of humor,” he says this with a laugh as he begins putting the blade guards on both his skates.
I clench my jaw, perturbed. “Just fucking tell me what Molly said.”
Weston laughs again. “Just that the two of you go at it like two alley cats. Oh. And that you’re a total dick to her. But of course we all knew that.”
“I can’t help it. Cecelia is a total bitch.”
“Oh, it’
s Cecelia now, hey?” Weston smirks at me while he bends to grab several loose hockey pucks on the ground and shoves them into an open practice duffle bag.
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Don’t get defensive man, I was just making a point. Besides, no one calls her Cecelia.”
“Well I didn’t know that - what do they call her than?”
“Her friends call her Cece. Obviously if she liked you she would have corrected you. But she doesn’t, so....” He shrugs and pulls his sneakers out of the duffle before stuffing a goalie mask inside.
“You know, it’s times like this I cannot fucking stand you.”
Weston laughs. “The feeling is mutual, bro.”
I stand there glaring at his back for a few moments - probably only a few seconds, in all actuality - not saying anything before shifting my weight and leaning my hip against the hard plank of the half wall. He looks up at me and twists his mouth into a grin.
Annoyed, I ask “What?”
“Look at you, dude. It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?” He laughs again, zipping the duffle shut and hefting it on to his shoulder.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, okay.” With that, he starts walking away (in his socks, by the way), leaving me staring after him. It’s never easy with this kid; he just doesn’t give a shit.
Nonetheless, I only hesitate briefly before calling him back.
“Wait.” Weston stops and turns, brows raised, a questioning look on his face. I run a hand over my face and blow out a puff of air.
He smirks. “Well? Spit it out, I’ve got Molly waiting.”
“Just give me her phone number.”
Silence fills the air, and he just stares at me. Finally he contorts his face and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. And who knows - maybe I have. Nonetheless, his reply doesn’t surprise me. “Hell no. Five seconds ago you were calling her a total bitch.”
I snort. “What do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“Then just give it to me.”
“That’s what she said.”
I stare at him and shake my head in disbelief. “Seriously? Just give me her damn number. I already have her email address.”
“Fuck off; I want nothing to do with this.” He turns and starts walking the stadium stairs, taking them two at a time, towards the lobby of the hockey arena.
