Page 10 of Play Fake
“Because I want to do something that matters,” I say more softly, and I mean it.
There’s a pause, and Claire’s voice softens. “You know Mom and Dad are going to bring up Zach again when they’re here for the wedding.”
My stomach twists. “Of course they are.”
“They think…” She hesitates. “They think it still looks bad. That you broke it off when everyone assumed?—”
“That we’d end up engaged?” I finish. My voice feels flat against the hum of students beginning to file in.
“Yeah.”
“They can think whatever they want,” I mutter. “We both know they have zero care for the fact that he’s a disgraceful piece of shit who can’t keep it in his pants, and all the concern for saving face.”
Claire can tell I’m over this topic and hops right into listing everything that still needs to be finalized for her upcoming wedding.
Rehearsal dinner. Centerpieces. Family expectations, all packaged so tightly you can’t see the person inside.
But Claire’s tone shifts, and the wedding stuff follows—who’s wearing what, guest count, our mom’s outfit crisis. I nod along, half listening.
We hang up, and I tuck my phone inside my bag before grabbing a seat at one of the outside tables next to the cafe. I get out my laptop and notebook, pulling up the class syllabus and looking over my schedule for the day, reminding myself that each term brings me one step closer to my dream.
I’ve always had a deep passion for helping children. The ones who get overlooked. The ones teachers write off as “difficult” or “lazy” when really, they just need someone to believe in them. Maybe that’s naïve, maybe I’ll burn out before I even make it to a master’s program, but I don’t care. It’s the only future that feels like mine.
I’m halfway through the syllabus for psych when someone barrels toward me, waving like she’s flagging down a taxi.
“Sophie! Tell me you’re not already drowning.”
Ava Mitchell skids to a stop in front of me, dark curls piled on top of her head and scrubs peeking out from under her hoodie. She’s balancing a textbook the size of a brick against her hip and sipping from an iced coffee that’s mostly melted, looking an awful lot like water.
“Abnormal Psych, followed by Research Methods,” I say grimly. “It’s going to be the death of me.”
She snorts. “Try Anatomy Lab. I swear they expect us to memorize every nerve in the human body before the end of the first week. You’ll be fine—you’ve got your color-coded pens and psych-brain. I’m the one who’s screwed.”
I laugh despite myself, the tension in my chest loosening a little. “At least your handwriting’s legible. Mine looks like a crime scene when I’m stressed.”
“Good thing you thrive under pressure.” She bumps her shoulder against mine as we start walking toward the dininghall. “Seriously, Soph, you’ve got this year locked down. Cheer, classes, saving the world one social work paper at a time…” She shakes her head like I’m some kind of superhero. “If you don’t slow down, the rest of us are going to look even worse.”
“I don’t have the luxury of slowing down.” The words slip out sharper than I mean them to, but Ava doesn’t flinch. She just gives me a look that says she gets it and won’t press.
Instead, she pivots. “So, your sister’s wedding. Are we picking dresses soon? Because if you think I’m letting you wear something boring and beige, you’re insane.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not even in the wedding party, and Claire ordered my dress six months ago.”
“Doesn’t matter. As your plus one, my best friend duties include heckling you into looking hot. Especially ifhe who shall not be namedis going to be there.”
My stomach twists, but I force a smile. “I don’t care what he thinks.”
“Good. Because he’s a walking red flag, and not in a good way. If he even looks at you sideways at this wedding, I’ll personally key his car.”
I snort out a laugh, shaking my head as we near the dining hall doors. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“You wouldn’t last five minutes,” she teases, holding the door open for me.
The heaviness from Claire’s call lifts, if only a little. Ava has that effect.
For a moment, with the smell of coffee drifting out from the café and the chatter of students rising around us, it almost feels like I can breathe again.
Almost.
