Page 34 of Play Fake
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting my bag.
“You don’t say,” he replies, glancing down at me with the faintest flicker of a grin. “Looks like we’re going the same way.”
My pulse skips, though I keep my eyes ahead on the stone path winding toward the psych building. I’m starting to noticethat, with the more time that passes, Beck seems to be showing more and more little slivers of whatever he’s hiding behind his guarded eyes. The real smiles starting to peek through, the way his eyes light up when he finds something funny or interesting.
Side by side, we cross the quad in silence, the chatter of other students fading around us. For once, the rush in my chest has nothing to do with being late.
12
SOPHIE
By the time class wraps up, my brain feels like it’s been wrung out. I shove my notebook into my bag, ready to bolt for the library, when Beck steps up beside me.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds the door open as we spill into the hallway with the crowd. Once we’re clear of the traffic, he glances down at me.
“You still want to try studying together?”
I let out a half-laugh. “Want to? Yes. Can we? That’s the real question.”
He nods, like he already expected that answer. “Practice every afternoon. Film twice a week. Lifts on top of that.”
“And I’ve got cheer, plus volunteering, and homework,” I add, grimacing. “I don’t think our planners would even be on speaking terms.”
We reach the steps outside, sunlight stretching across the quad. Students pour past us, but for a second, it feels like we’re stuck in a weird little bubble where time is bending out of shape.
“So…what’s the plan then?” I ask.
Beck doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls a folded scrap of paper from his notebook and hands it to me.
I unfold it. Ten digits stare back at me in sharp, blocky handwriting. His number.
“If you want to text me, we can figure it out later,” he says simply.
My stomach does a weird little flip I pretend not to notice. “Old-school, huh? What happened to just putting it in my phone like a normal person?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s half a second from a smile. “Where’s the fun in being normal?”
I tuck the paper carefully into the front pocket of my notebook, more deliberate than I mean to be. “All right then. I’ll text you when I’ve got a window.”
“Sounds good.” He nods once, already shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder. “I gotta get going, or I’ll be late. I’ll see you later.”
We split at the corner, but as I walk, the paper feels heavier than it should in my bag—like some kind of thread tying me back to him.
By the time practice rolls around that afternoon, the sun is high and unforgiving, baking the turf until heat radiates back at us in shimmering waves. Sweat prickles at the back of my neck as we run through the first set of routines, Jordan’s voice sharp as she calls out counts.
“Again from the top!” she shouts, clapping once.
We reset, pom-poms ready, and the music blares through the speakers. My muscles fall into the motions automatically, sharp arms and high jumps, feet hitting their marks. By the third run-through, we’re all gasping for water.
As we collapse onto the sideline for a quick break, Ava leans close, fanning herself with her hand. She smirks, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Sooo…saw you walking out of class with Beck Harrison earlier.”
My brows shoot up. “And?”
“And,” she says, drawing the word out, “you two looked cozy.”
I choke on my water. “We were talking about studying. That’s it.”
