Note: This is embarrassing but I have an obsession for hockey. The Blackhawks, specifically. Anyway, in case you only care about Cammy-ness, yes there will be Cammy in the near future. So that's all. And sorry if you get pissed at Sammy acting all weird over Jonathan and Patrick. HAHAHA. Okay.

Sammy Keyes and the Hockey Murderer

(Uncreative as hell of a name).. CHAPTER ONE.

"Why, Sammy, you look beautiful on this fine day." Casey Acosta smiled at me. The sun was shining, the grass was green, it was a good day in Santa Martina. "Except I freaking hate your outfit."
I primly returned the smile. "You look quite dashing, too, might I say." I curtsied. "But you will learn to EAT YOUR WORDS."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." My best friend Marissa cut in: "I think we should all be friendly, non-hostile. Maybe you two should hold hands like you usually do? Show us some love?"
I eyed Casey.

He eyed me.

"Nope." We both said at the same time. "We're good."
Casey turned away from me so I could see the 19 "Toews" written on the back of his Blackhawks jersey.

I stuck my tongue out.

"I wouldn't do that." Billy said, popping out of Marissa's bathroom with a Kane jersey. "It'll ruin your complexion."
"Oh, shut up." I grabbed a rubber band and put my hair in a messy ponytail.

"By the way, Sammy, have I mentioned how your jersey is absolutely feo?" he was referring to my number 29 Cloew jersey, for the Sharks.

Yes, we were all attending a hockey game.

Billy, you see, is usually a Kings fan. And he pretty much hates the team I support, the Sharks, with a burning passion. The game was a Sharks home game against the Blackhawks, and since the Kings have no involvement in this, he is helping Casey support the Blackhawks.

Which obviously made me grab Marissa to be on my side.

Intense rivalry? I think yes. The past few days have been burning between me and Casey—we make small talk but we can both tell that this—being the one huge thing we TOTALLY disagree on—is not the best subject to discuss alone with each other.

I can get pretty overly-defensive.

And he can get pretty Mr.-know-it-all.

JUST SAYING.

Anyway, I didn't have a jersey to lend to Marissa since I'm not like Casey who has like, 5 different jerseys (is that the ONLY thing guys spend their money on? Sports jerseys? They seem to have like, 10 different jerseys for every team and sport)), I gave Marissa a Sharks tank-top instead, that "12 Marleau" on the back. Close enough to the real deal.

Marissa, who was excited to see the "cute hockey players" (even though I had told her many times that you can barely see their faces through the masks, so the jersey is what we all rely on when watching a game), was ready to go.

"Marissa, you can't wear skirts and heels to a hockey game! It's KINDA FREAKING COLD in the arena."
"Really?"
"Yes. So put a longer-sleeved shirt on under that tank top and wear jeans or pants. Seriously."

So yes, Marissa got changed. Casey and I glared at each other. Billy played Angry Birds on his iTouch.

We went to the bus stop, got on, and prepared ourselves for the next 3 hours full of tension.

They couldn't have been longer.

After the bus ride (note: like how I so cleverly avoided the long bus ride to get to the fun stuff?) and after we were finally at, and seated, in the hockey arena, I started counting the seconds and the minutes.

"What are you doing?" Casey finally asked me. The lights dimmed.

"Shhh!"
"56, 57, 58, 59, 60, ONE MINUTE. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…" after I finally couldn't take him just staring at me like that, I snapped, "What do you want?" a little too hostile.

"I'm trying to figure out what the heck you're doing."

I sighed and opened my ponytail. "I'm counting. It's a lucky tactic that I do before every game. It helps us win."
He grinned. "A lucky tactic?"
"Shut up."
"ONE. TWO. THREE. YEAH, WE'RE GONNA WIN NOW!"

I blushed and punched him. "I said shut up!"

Suddenly Billy snapped, "While you guys were bickering, the game began!"

Marissa's whining. "You were right…I can't see their faces, their arms…even their legs!"
"Good! Maybe you'll concentrate on the game instead of staring at their biceps, then."
"No, that's no fun!"
"Shhh!"

The game was off to a rough start. A girl in a Sharks jersey in front of me was screaming.

"OH COME ON, MITCHELL, YOU TOTALLY JUST GAVE THAT TO MAYERS! I WILL KILL YOU."

The guy next to her in an identical jersey, yelled, "YES PAVELSKI. YOU BLOCK THAT SHOT."

Casey leaned forward and said in a scarily calm and steady voice, "Will you two please shut up? You're ruining my mojo."
the girl whipped around and said between her teeth, "We will KILL your mojo."
Two death threats in a matter of 5 seconds? This girl was not looking pretty right now.

My mind went right back to the game. Suddenly Casey jumped up, along with a hundred or so other Hawks fans (but there were more Sharks fans, obviously, it was a home game) and yelled, "FIRST GOAL, STALBERG!"

The BOOOOO-ing from the arena was inevitable—the majority was made of Sharks fans, and we were not looking happy.

"It's only been 3 minutes into the first period!" I snapped. "Don't act like you're so hot."

After about 4 minutes of Stalberg and Leddy pass amongst themselves, I snapped, "Alright, why don't you DO something for your team and SHOOT?"
"LONG SHOT LEDDY." Casey was chanting. "LONG SHOT. LEEEDDDDDYYYYYYYY."

"Shut up!"

Three more minutes and the game was tied 1-1 thanks Ryane (spelling?) Clowe. I jumped up because, well, I was wearing his jersey.

"WHAT NOW!" I turned to Casey and smirked. "We took time, EFFORT. You guys just blindly shoot."
"Yeah, but at least we can SCORE when we blindly shoot. Did you see Pavelski trying to score earlier? He was all over the place. It's inevitable that Seabrook would block it."
"Then why don't you ask Carcillo why he's being such a jerk and totally slamming Sheppard as we speak?"
His head spun toward the game. "NOT AGAIN, CARCILLO." He yelled. "YOU'LL GET A SUSPENSION. AGAIN!" Even though Carcillo obviously couldn't hear.

He turned to me. "Don't ask me about Carcillo, alright? He doesn't know the boundary between 'defense' and 'overly-defensive'. But you'd know, wouldn't you?"
"I am NOT overly-defensive!" I said defensively.

He just smirked and turned back to the game.

The end of the first period came fast because no one made a score again.

"That wraps up the first period with 1-1!"
The intermission began, right as the lights in the whole arena blacked out, leaving us all in a giant arena filled with National Hockey League players, confusion, and a whole lot of panic.

"What's going on?"

Screaming began.

"CALM DOWN!" the announcer yelled, but suddenly his voice stopped. The little warmth that had been in the arena whisped away quickly.

That's when I realized that this was no technical difficulty.

The lights going out first? All of the power cut out 10 seconds after? That's not what I call ironic.

That's what I call planned.