Clarity
Secrets Secrets Are Not Fun
“Are there any hockey games on tonight?” Caity asked, sitting down next to me.
I had been flipping through channels absent-mindedly for about about ten minutes, trying to find something to watch. It was 6:30, and after talking to Caity about Carl for a half hour, I sat down and did nothing.
“I’ll ask Michael. He’ll know if there are,” I told her, and grabbed my phone.
Are there any good hockey games on tonight?
Caity reached over and grabbed the remote, flipping to the sports channels. I watched as she looked through the list of games.
Islanders vs. Maple Leafs,
Capitals vs. Senators,
Devils vs. Flyers,
Hurricanes vs. Jets,
Blue Jackets vs. Kings,
Panthers vs. Rangers,
Lightning vs. Canadiens,
Coyotes vs. Blues,
Canucks vs. Stars,
Wild vs. Sharks
“Which game sounds most interesting?” she asked, standing up to stretch.
I shrugged. My phone buzzed, with a text from Michael, and I checked it immediately.
Yeah, I’m watching the Panthers vs. Rangers game, heard it’s gonna be a good one.
Caity had gone to the kitchen to make popcorn, so I clicked on the pregame and followed her in there. She was leaning against the island, holding a bowl, watching the microwave timer decrease with every passing second.
“You pick a game?” she asked, her eyes glued to the microwave, watching it pop.
I nodded, but realized she wasn’t watching me. “Yeah. Panthers at Rangers.”
She nodded, turning to face me. “Is Michael watching it?”
My face flushed a deep pink, and I smiled. “Maybe.”
Caity laughed, running a hand through her light brown hair. “I figured. If he’s watching it, Carl’s probably watching it, too.”
“Ooh, you so like him?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows.
Caity rolled her eyes and shoved my shoulder, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah. He’s nice.”
The microwave beeped, and I walked over, taking the bowl from Caity’s hands to retrieve the popcorn. “So, are you just gonna be a booty call to him or what?”
A silence filled us, and after I had poured the popcorn into the bowl, I turned around to see Caity with her eyes looking at her feet.
“I don’t want to be,” she said after a while.
She began walking towards the couch, and I followed swiftly. She sat down and muted the TV, then turned to me. “I think that’s what he thinks of me, though. I don’t want that. I like him, a lot.”
I nodded. “I know. I like Michael a lot, but we’re probably just friends in his eyes.”
“You, my friend, need to get on that. He likes you, I can tell,” she said, grabbing a handful of popcorn.
“I’ll get on that if you tell Carl you like him,” I retorted.
Her eyes snapped towards me and she paused in mid-chew. She swallowed slowly, then batted her eyelashes at me. “I’m only telling Carl, if you tell Michael.”
I shook my head and unmuted the TV. “Well, it looks like neither of us are telling them, then.”
Caity scowled. “Fine, I’ll tell him.”
I smiled, watching as the two guys who were talking on the TV panned down to the ice, where the Rangers and Panthers were warming up. The game was at MSG, and I remembered Michael telling me that I had to go there.
The teams were taking shots on their goalie. The Florida goalie was letting in a few shots every once in a while, but the Rangers goalie was stopping everything.
“Jesus, Lundqvist is a beast,” I said, making sure I pronounced his last name right.
Caity nodded. “I don’t think they’ve shot anything past him yet,” she said.
After a while they went back to the two guys who were talking about the Rangers, mostly about four new players they had gotten from the Columbus Blue Jackets and San Jose Sharks; Derick Brassard, John Moore, Derek Dorsett and Ryane Clowe. Brassard, Moore and Clowe had scored and assisted goals in their debut game and have been playing extremely well, but Dorsett was still injured.
“Ok, Carl hasn’t answered,” Caity sighed.
“Well, how long ago did you text him?” I asked.
She squinted at her phone, then rolled her eyes. “Fifteen minutes ago.”
I shook my head. “Give him time. He’s probably prepping for the game.”
“Stupid guys and their stupid sports obsessions.”
I threw a piece of popcorn at her. “Shutup, the game’s starting.”
We watched as the game slowly began, with the national anthem, and the players quickly took their places. It went by slow at first, but about three minutes into the game, Derick Brassard scored a power play goal to put the Rangers up by 1.
“He is very good,” Caity commented as the two teams took their places back at center ice. “This is like, his fourth goal since getting traded to the team. Carl told me the other day.”
I nodded, watching as the puck was stolen and Florida started it back up. A few minutes later, Rick Nash, another Columbus trade from what I was told, scored another power play goal, to give them a 2-0 lead.
During the commercial break, Caity began staring intently at her phone, groaning after a while. “He still hasn’t answered. All I said was that I had to tell him something!”
I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know what to say, kid.”
Caity opened her mouth, but what Sam Rosen commented on made us both look at the TV, mouths wide. “And the wraparound by Carl Hagelin- save Clemmensen!”
“I think that’s Carl’s last name,” Caity said, looking over at me.
I shook my head. “It can’t be, wouldn’t he have told you he was a hockey player?”
Caity pointed frantically at the TV, bouncing up and down on the couch. “Look!”
The camera had closed in on number 62, who’s blonde hair was covered by a helmet, his blue eyes looking around. He looked exactly like the Carl that spilled his drink on Caity.
“That’s him!” she shrieked, falling off the couch. “That’s my Carl! The stupid one who spilled his fucking drink on me! The fucking asshole didn’t tell me.”
Around forty minutes later, halfway into the third period, the score was 4-1 in favor of the Rangers, and Caity was still fuming over Carl playing hockey.
“I just don’t understand why he couldn’t just tell me!” she was saying, but I wasn’t paying attention.
Her eyes snapped up when Sam’s voice started rising, and soon cried that Brassard had scored again. As they reviewed the goal, I saw one of the players who assisted it looked very familiar.
“Is that Michael?” Caity asked.
Number 4 had skated in towards the goal, but passed it back to Brassard who one-timed it in. As they closed in on their faces, number 4 looked just like Michael.
“Shit, Del Zotto is his last name. He fucking plays hockey too?!” I cried.
“We have to talk to them. We need to sit them down and scream and yell at them until they realize that they needed to tell us shit like this,” Caity snapped. “I’m calling him as soon as this damn game is over.”
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She wasn’t lying when she said she was gonna call him. About five minutes after the game ended, giving him time to get to the locker room, she dialed his number and sat patiently waiting for him to answer.
And lucky for her, he did.
“CARL, WHY WOULDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU PLAY HOCKEY?” she screeched.
I stood up from the couch and bolted towards I quickly texted Michael.
WAY TO TELL ME YOU PLAY PROFESSIONAL HOCKEY THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS THANKS A LOT
Much nicer.
He texted back quickly, I guess he didn’t really need much after the game.
I’m sorry I didn’t think you needed to know that!
“OF COURSE IT’S SOMETHING YOU SHOULD’VE SAID!” I heard Caity scream.
Literally took the words right out of my mouth. So, that’s basically what I texted Michael, using her exact words and everything.
About five minutes later, Caity threw my bedroom door open, walked in, closed in, then sat down across from me on my bed. We stared at each other for a good two minutes before she sighed. “He thinks it wasn’t an important fact about his life.”
“That’s what Michael said.”
She ran her hands through her hair. “It would’ve be nice to mention, though.”
I nodded. “Obviously. Shit, Michael just answered.”
Caity leaned over me as I opened it, reading the text along with me.
It’s not even that important though, I didn’t think it was that important to tell you.
“Is he on crack?” Caity asked. “If I was a guy playing professional hockey, and a girl I liked didn’t recognize me, the first thing I’d say was that I play professional hockey.”
I laughed, telling Michael what Caity had said, again.
“You know what, I’m done, and tired. I’m going to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow and then we’re both gonna go yell at those stupidass boys.”
“Good night!” I called after her.
We’re definitely going to talk to them tomorrow.
I had been flipping through channels absent-mindedly for about about ten minutes, trying to find something to watch. It was 6:30, and after talking to Caity about Carl for a half hour, I sat down and did nothing.
“I’ll ask Michael. He’ll know if there are,” I told her, and grabbed my phone.
Are there any good hockey games on tonight?
Caity reached over and grabbed the remote, flipping to the sports channels. I watched as she looked through the list of games.
Islanders vs. Maple Leafs,
Capitals vs. Senators,
Devils vs. Flyers,
Hurricanes vs. Jets,
Blue Jackets vs. Kings,
Panthers vs. Rangers,
Lightning vs. Canadiens,
Coyotes vs. Blues,
Canucks vs. Stars,
Wild vs. Sharks
“Which game sounds most interesting?” she asked, standing up to stretch.
I shrugged. My phone buzzed, with a text from Michael, and I checked it immediately.
Yeah, I’m watching the Panthers vs. Rangers game, heard it’s gonna be a good one.
Caity had gone to the kitchen to make popcorn, so I clicked on the pregame and followed her in there. She was leaning against the island, holding a bowl, watching the microwave timer decrease with every passing second.
“You pick a game?” she asked, her eyes glued to the microwave, watching it pop.
I nodded, but realized she wasn’t watching me. “Yeah. Panthers at Rangers.”
She nodded, turning to face me. “Is Michael watching it?”
My face flushed a deep pink, and I smiled. “Maybe.”
Caity laughed, running a hand through her light brown hair. “I figured. If he’s watching it, Carl’s probably watching it, too.”
“Ooh, you so like him?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows.
Caity rolled her eyes and shoved my shoulder, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah. He’s nice.”
The microwave beeped, and I walked over, taking the bowl from Caity’s hands to retrieve the popcorn. “So, are you just gonna be a booty call to him or what?”
A silence filled us, and after I had poured the popcorn into the bowl, I turned around to see Caity with her eyes looking at her feet.
“I don’t want to be,” she said after a while.
She began walking towards the couch, and I followed swiftly. She sat down and muted the TV, then turned to me. “I think that’s what he thinks of me, though. I don’t want that. I like him, a lot.”
I nodded. “I know. I like Michael a lot, but we’re probably just friends in his eyes.”
“You, my friend, need to get on that. He likes you, I can tell,” she said, grabbing a handful of popcorn.
“I’ll get on that if you tell Carl you like him,” I retorted.
Her eyes snapped towards me and she paused in mid-chew. She swallowed slowly, then batted her eyelashes at me. “I’m only telling Carl, if you tell Michael.”
I shook my head and unmuted the TV. “Well, it looks like neither of us are telling them, then.”
Caity scowled. “Fine, I’ll tell him.”
I smiled, watching as the two guys who were talking on the TV panned down to the ice, where the Rangers and Panthers were warming up. The game was at MSG, and I remembered Michael telling me that I had to go there.
The teams were taking shots on their goalie. The Florida goalie was letting in a few shots every once in a while, but the Rangers goalie was stopping everything.
“Jesus, Lundqvist is a beast,” I said, making sure I pronounced his last name right.
Caity nodded. “I don’t think they’ve shot anything past him yet,” she said.
After a while they went back to the two guys who were talking about the Rangers, mostly about four new players they had gotten from the Columbus Blue Jackets and San Jose Sharks; Derick Brassard, John Moore, Derek Dorsett and Ryane Clowe. Brassard, Moore and Clowe had scored and assisted goals in their debut game and have been playing extremely well, but Dorsett was still injured.
“Ok, Carl hasn’t answered,” Caity sighed.
“Well, how long ago did you text him?” I asked.
She squinted at her phone, then rolled her eyes. “Fifteen minutes ago.”
I shook my head. “Give him time. He’s probably prepping for the game.”
“Stupid guys and their stupid sports obsessions.”
I threw a piece of popcorn at her. “Shutup, the game’s starting.”
We watched as the game slowly began, with the national anthem, and the players quickly took their places. It went by slow at first, but about three minutes into the game, Derick Brassard scored a power play goal to put the Rangers up by 1.
“He is very good,” Caity commented as the two teams took their places back at center ice. “This is like, his fourth goal since getting traded to the team. Carl told me the other day.”
I nodded, watching as the puck was stolen and Florida started it back up. A few minutes later, Rick Nash, another Columbus trade from what I was told, scored another power play goal, to give them a 2-0 lead.
During the commercial break, Caity began staring intently at her phone, groaning after a while. “He still hasn’t answered. All I said was that I had to tell him something!”
I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know what to say, kid.”
Caity opened her mouth, but what Sam Rosen commented on made us both look at the TV, mouths wide. “And the wraparound by Carl Hagelin- save Clemmensen!”
“I think that’s Carl’s last name,” Caity said, looking over at me.
I shook my head. “It can’t be, wouldn’t he have told you he was a hockey player?”
Caity pointed frantically at the TV, bouncing up and down on the couch. “Look!”
The camera had closed in on number 62, who’s blonde hair was covered by a helmet, his blue eyes looking around. He looked exactly like the Carl that spilled his drink on Caity.
“That’s him!” she shrieked, falling off the couch. “That’s my Carl! The stupid one who spilled his fucking drink on me! The fucking asshole didn’t tell me.”
Around forty minutes later, halfway into the third period, the score was 4-1 in favor of the Rangers, and Caity was still fuming over Carl playing hockey.
“I just don’t understand why he couldn’t just tell me!” she was saying, but I wasn’t paying attention.
Her eyes snapped up when Sam’s voice started rising, and soon cried that Brassard had scored again. As they reviewed the goal, I saw one of the players who assisted it looked very familiar.
“Is that Michael?” Caity asked.
Number 4 had skated in towards the goal, but passed it back to Brassard who one-timed it in. As they closed in on their faces, number 4 looked just like Michael.
“Shit, Del Zotto is his last name. He fucking plays hockey too?!” I cried.
“We have to talk to them. We need to sit them down and scream and yell at them until they realize that they needed to tell us shit like this,” Caity snapped. “I’m calling him as soon as this damn game is over.”
--------
She wasn’t lying when she said she was gonna call him. About five minutes after the game ended, giving him time to get to the locker room, she dialed his number and sat patiently waiting for him to answer.
And lucky for her, he did.
“CARL, WHY WOULDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU PLAY HOCKEY?” she screeched.
I stood up from the couch and bolted towards I quickly texted Michael.
WAY TO TELL ME YOU PLAY PROFESSIONAL HOCKEY THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS THANKS A LOT
Much nicer.
He texted back quickly, I guess he didn’t really need much after the game.
I’m sorry I didn’t think you needed to know that!
“OF COURSE IT’S SOMETHING YOU SHOULD’VE SAID!” I heard Caity scream.
Literally took the words right out of my mouth. So, that’s basically what I texted Michael, using her exact words and everything.
About five minutes later, Caity threw my bedroom door open, walked in, closed in, then sat down across from me on my bed. We stared at each other for a good two minutes before she sighed. “He thinks it wasn’t an important fact about his life.”
“That’s what Michael said.”
She ran her hands through her hair. “It would’ve be nice to mention, though.”
I nodded. “Obviously. Shit, Michael just answered.”
Caity leaned over me as I opened it, reading the text along with me.
It’s not even that important though, I didn’t think it was that important to tell you.
“Is he on crack?” Caity asked. “If I was a guy playing professional hockey, and a girl I liked didn’t recognize me, the first thing I’d say was that I play professional hockey.”
I laughed, telling Michael what Caity had said, again.
“You know what, I’m done, and tired. I’m going to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow and then we’re both gonna go yell at those stupidass boys.”
“Good night!” I called after her.
We’re definitely going to talk to them tomorrow.