Page 17 of Play Fake
I laugh, tipping my head toward the fading light. The football team is still running plays across the field, whistles sharp, helmets glinting. Their voices carry on the breeze—deep, commanding, almost rhythmic in their own way.
The two teams finish around the same time, clusters of players and cheerleaders drifting toward the track to gather their bags. I’m stuffing my water bottle into my backpack when I hear someone clear their throat nearby.
“Hey.”
I glance up.
Beck.
Helmet tucked under one arm, hair damp from sweat, his T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. He looks like he’s just walked out of a sports magazine—except his eyes land on me with quiet steadiness, not performance.
“Hi,” I manage, brushing stray hair out of my face.
“You guys looked solid out there.” His voice is low, genuine. Not like he’s tossing out a line—just saying it because he means it.
“Thanks,” I say, a little breathless from practice. “You didn’t look too bad yourselves.”
That earns me the smallest grin, quick but there.
Tessa and Kenzie exchange looks over my shoulder, barely containing their smirks, but they don’t say anything.
Beck adjusts his helmet, glancing back toward the locker room. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I say, my pulse kicking up in a way that has nothing to do with stunts. “See you tomorrow.”
He nods once before heading off, slipping back into the stream of players.
And I stand there a moment longer, bag slung over my shoulder, wondering why three simple words feel like more than they should.
Kenzie comes to my side, hip checking me while smirking like a cheshire cat. “Thought you said you didn’t know any of the players?”
Rolling my eyes, I walk toward my car. “Just met him a couple weeks ago, when he walked me back to my dorm afterthatparty. We have a class together.”
“I love how you’re not even trying and have men falling at your feet.” Kenzie laughs as she makes her way through the parking lot before I can correct her. “See you tomorrow, babes!”
By the time I finally drag myself through the front door of my dorm room, every muscle in my body is screaming. I drop my bag by the couch and kick off my sneakers, barely resisting the urge to flop face-first onto the cushions.
A softmeowgreets me from the corner.
“Hi, Snicks,” I murmur as my gray tabby stretches, blinking at me with sleepy green eyes before hopping onto the couch. She circles twice before settling against my thigh, purring loud enough to rattle. Snickers has been my best pal for the last eleven years, and I was beyond relieved when we got herapproved as my emotional support animal so that she could live here with me.
I’m sure it also doesn’t hurt that my family has an entire building named after them.
I scratch behind her ears with one hand while flipping open my laptop with the other. Abnormal Psych readings. Research Methods notes. A color-coded planner that’s already starting to feel more like a lifeline than the tool it’s supposed to be.
The quiet hum of Snickers’ purring anchors me, steady and constant. Unlike people, she doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t care if I’m late or if my grades are perfect. She just wants me here.
I take a deep breath, pushing back the day piece by piece, the foster agency, cheer practice, and Beck’s grin flashing in my mind like a snapshot I didn’t mean to keep.
Homework. Food. Sleep.
Do it all again tomorrow.
7
BECK
On Friday morning, something burnt overwhelms my sense of smell as I walk into the kitchen. I tug open the pantry door, scanning past boxes of cereal and half-empty chip bags until my eyes land on the one shelf that’s mine.
