trust issues // w. nylander

31} sour keys

I LOOK UP at the sky distastefully, crinkling my nose at the sight above me. Through the window it looks very blue— suspiciously blue.

My eyes switch from the meatball to the guy who threw it from across the canteen. His dark black hair is hidden behind a beanie. He laughs next to a girl with long dark red hair and a bright yellow sweater.

What comes up must come down, right?

School is so boring when none of your friends have classes at the same time as you.

I watch as the meatball comes pummelling down and spatters atop of a girls head, rolling down her hair and onto the ground. She lets out a loud whine, sauce dripping off her head.

It takes all of my self control not to burst out laughing.

The things that happen at this school...

My day is painstakingly boring, aside from the part where I watched that meatball fall on the girls head at lunch. Otherwise I've just been hanging around by myself, doing schoolwork and watching YouTube videos in the library after class.

I have a pointless conversation with the librarian about the Toronto Maple Leafs. She's said she knew my boyfriend. I totally understand that, a ton of people her in Toronto know who William Nylander is. I'm just curious to know how Clarice, the sixty seven year old book lady knows that I'm his girlfriend?

Maybe it's coincidental that even when William is thousands of miles away he still finds away to sneak into my everyday life.

The team is in Vancouver right now, the last game of the week long road trip the boys recently left for.

It feels like I haven't seen my goober in ages, his bright smiley demeanour beginning to feel so far in the past even though it's hardly been over a week.

Clarice could probably stand here all day talking her lips off about the playoffs which are still months away, but I'm not going to let her, because I have to get home to watch the game soon, and make some pizza pockets.

I already have a plan. Get home, shower, make pizza pockets in the microwave and eat the rest of my leftover pasta from last night when I ate dinner alone. Everyone seemed to be super busy this week with their own activities.

I distortedly make my way up the stairs to my apartment, trudging inside and kicking my boots off onto the mat.

Trisha's with Laurel, and I wasn't in the mood to ask what they would be doing tonight, not that I haven't already made my own predictions. This only further confirms the fact that I'm going to be a lonely hockey obsessed dirtbag tonight.

I hear the sound of shuffling in my bedroom, and quickly grab the frying pan that's still left on the counter from the eggs I cooked this morning.

"Who's there?" I sound like one of those stupid girls in the horror movies.

I swear to god if someone's trying to rob me... if they're here to search for money, I might as well search with them. But I don't even know if there's someone in my bedroom or not, it's just sounds.

"Surprise bitch! It's me!" None other than Alexander Nylander cartwheels down the hallway, straight past me just barely missing banging his head against the frying pan.

Sliding down with my back against the wall I heave over laughing, falling onto my ass.

He just cartwheeled..

All that I can think is the image of Alex's face as he jumped replaying through my mind. There's no better explanation than to conclude that he's here to make me die of laughter.