Page 35 of Play Fake
Ava grins like she doesn’t believe a word. “Sure. Studying. Get ’em, tiger.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I shake my head, laughing it off. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously observant,” she fires back, winking before hopping up when Jordan calls us back.
I roll my eyes, tugging my ponytail tighter as I stand.
Studying. That’s all it is.
By the time I make it back to my dorm Tuesday afternoon, I can still smell the finger paint and apple juice that occupied my morning. Days at the foster agency always leave me tired in the best way, but today the kids were wild—Caleb refused to put his crayons down, Mia insisted on three stories at nap time, and Eli followed me around, roaring like a dinosaur until my sides hurt from laughing.
I drop my bag by the door and flop onto the couch, Snickers immediately hopping into my lap like she’s been waiting all day for me to sit still. “Miss me?” I scratch behind her ears, earning a loud purr.
The quiet feels heavy after a morning full of giggles and tiny hands tugging at my shirt. I don’t mind it, though. The quiet means I can think.
I pull my psych book out of my bag, flipping to the assigned chapter. The words blur together after a few pages, my highlighter hovering without purpose. My brain drifts, not to DSM criteria or treatment plans, but to the folded piece of paper sitting in the front pocket of my notebook.
Beck’s number.
I bite my lip, closing the textbook. It’s stupid to overthink it. People swap numbers all the time. But the thought of actually using it makes my pulse pick up.
What would I even say?Hey, want to study sometime?Too blunt.Hey, thanks for helping me not get strangled by my sweatshirt yesterday?Too weird.
Snickers nudges her head under my hand, impatient. I stroke her soft fur while contemplating what I should text him.
The truth is, I don’t know if I want to text him because I need the study help…or because I just want to.
I shake my head, setting the book back on my lap. Focus. Homework first. Then maybe—maybe—I’ll decide if I’m brave enough to press send.
I flip my notebook open, pulling the folded paper free. The numbers stare back at me, bold and blocky in his handwriting. My thumb hovers over my phone for a long beat before I finally type them in.
New contact:Beck Harrison.
Just seeing his name on my screen makes my stomach twist.
I tap the message bar, type fast, then immediately backspace.
Sophie: Hey, thanks again for your help in class. Want to go over notes sometime this week?
Delete. Too formal.
Try again.
Sophie: You still up for studying?
Delete. Too blunt.
I sigh, Snickers pawing at my lap as if to sayjust get on with it already.
One more try.
Sophie: Hey, it’s Sophie. Figured I’d make this official since you gave me your number.
I stare at it, thumb hovering over send. It’s not bad. It’s not weird. But still, the thought of that little bubble popping up on his screen makes my chest tighten.
What if he thinks I’m being pushy? What if he doesn’t even want to hear from me outside of class?
With a groan, I hold down the backspace key until the words vanish.
