Page 13 of Play Fake
The ache is sharp and quick, a flash of memory I shove down before it can dig deeper. I tighten my grip on my backpack strap, focusing on the sidewalk under my boots.
Never again.
It’s easier to keep my heart locked up, to let the world see the version of me that hits hard and never hesitates. It’s the only way to keep from breaking all over again.
The psych building comes into view, glass doors gleaming in the sun. I take the steps two at a time, pulling the door open and letting the wave of voices and footsteps swallow me whole.
Time to get through this day. One class at a time.
The lecture hall is already half full when I push open the door. Voices bounce off the high ceiling, a mix of nervous first-day chatter and the rustle of notebooks. I take a second to scan the room, figuring I’ll grab a spot in the back where no one will bother me.
But then something shifts.
A flash of movement pulls my attention, and my eyes catch hers.
Sophie Prescott.
She’s already looking at me, like she knew I was coming before I even stepped inside. The sunlight through the upper windows hits just right, turning her hair into a halo, her eyes a sharp, clear blue that snags me harder than I want to admit.
Her lips curve into a small smile. It’s quick, almost cautious, but it’s there.
I feel mine tug higher in answer—reflex, automatic, not something I planned.
I climb the steps, ignoring the cluster of girls whispering in the corner, and stop at her row. Out of all the open seats in this place, this one feels like the right call.
I nod toward the empty chair beside her. “This seat taken?”
She shakes her head, pen still poised over her notebook.
I slide in, dropping my backpack at my feet, posture easy, even though my pulse is still settling from the run across campus. No big deal. Just a seat. Just a girl I happened to walk home, once.
But as the professor clears his throat at the front of the room, I can feel the weight of her presence beside me, quiet, but hard to ignore.
And for the first time this morning, I don’t mind being here.
The professor is still fiddling with the projector, giving everyone time to settle. I flip open my notebook, click my pen, and catch Sophie sneaking a glance at me from the corner of her eye.
“You surprised?” I ask, low enough that only she can hear.
Her lips twitch. “A little. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Here, like this class?”
She nods, shifting in her seat. “Most athletes stick to…you know. The easier options.”
Her voice softens at the end, like she’s already worried she’s offended me.
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard worse.”
Her cheeks flush, but she meets my gaze. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just—most guys on the team don’t exactly screamAbnormal Psych.”
“Fair.” I lean back in my chair, tapping my pen against the desk. “But I’m not most guys. Psychology’s my major.”
Her brows lift. “Really?”
“Really. Planning on grad school. Counseling track, if I can make it work.”
The professor’s voice rises at the front, calling the class to attention, but Sophie’s eyes stay on me for a beat longer, curious.
