Page 64 of Play Fake
Monday comes faster than I want it to. I tell myself it’ll feel normal, just another day of class. But the second I spot Beck across the quad, butterflies explode in my stomach.
He falls into step beside me just like most mornings for the last few weeks. “Morning,” he says, voice low, still slightly rough around the edges, like he hasn’t been awake long.
“Morning,” I echo, hugging my notebook to my chest.
For a few strides, we just walk, sneakers scuffing the stone pathway, the early sunlight painting long shadows across the grass. Then—without warning—his arm comes up and settles across my shoulders.
My whole body goes warm, every nerve suddenly aware of how broad he feels next to me, how warm his hand is where it brushes my arm. To everyone else, it probably looks simple.
To me, it feels anything but.
“How was your Sunday?” he asks, as if this contact is having zero effect on him.
I clear my throat, trying not to sound as flustered as I feel. “Pretty good. I volunteered at the center in the morning after someone else had to call out sick, then caught up on homework.Ava came over last night—we had a chick flick marathon.” I smile faintly. “And ate way too much popcorn.”
His mouth curves, the hint of a smile lighting up his otherwise calm expression. “Sounds solid. Is Ava your friend on the cheer team?”
“Yep. She’s finishing up her nursing degree. We met in the fourth grade and have been best friends ever since. What about you? Any big Sunday adventures?” I ask, glancing up at him.
A grin takes over his face, causing that dimple on the left side to pop out. “Spent the afternoon with Alyssa and Joey. My little brother’s obsessed with football right now, so we played in the yard until he passed out.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest squeeze. He doesn’t offer details unless you ask, but when he does, you see it. The softness beneath all that control.
I tuck the thought away quickly, trying not to read too much into it.
“How old are they? It must be a fun age to get to play with them where they can participate.”
We reach the psych building, Beck removing his arm from my shoulders and opening the door for me before answering.
“Alyssa is five, and Joey just turned eight a few weeks ago.” He puts his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie as we make our way toward the lecture hall. “I was honestly really nervous about the age gap between us, but it’s awesome. In their eyes, I’m the cool big brother. It’s been really neat watching them grow up. Let me tell you, though, when they were first born, I was terrified of holding them.”
Professor Nelson starts calling out names and handing over folders one by one. The shuffle of papers mixes with quiet murmurs as groups figure out what diagnosis they’ve been assigned.
It doesn’t take long before I hear both of our names. “Sophie and Beck,” he announces, holding out a manila folder. “Here you are.”
Beck reaches forward to take the folder, and the second he opens the packet, something in him shifts. His shoulders go rigid, his jaw tightening just enough for me to notice.
I lean closer, lowering my voice so only he can hear. “Hey…you okay?”
His eyes stay fixed on the folder like it’s something poisonous, ready to strike at any given second. For a heartbeat, I think he might actually tell me what’s wrong—but then he blinks, sits up a little straighter, and shakes his head quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”
He’s anything but convincing.
I nod slowly, even though I don’t believe him. “Okay, well…when do you want to meet up to get started? We could do later this afternoon if you’re free?—”
“Actually,” he cuts in, standing abruptly and shoving the folder onto my desk. “I, uh…forgot I have an important meeting this morning. Can we talk about it later?”
Before I can respond, he’s already halfway to the door. “I’ll text you,” he says, and then he’s gone before Professor Nelson has even finished handing out the packets to the rest of the groups.
I sit there for a moment, blinking after him.
Something is definitely not fine.
I stare at the door long after it swings shut behind him, my mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Beck doesn’t do abrupt. He’s grounded—he doesn’t justbolt.
I glance down at the folder Professor Nelson handed out to everyone, pulling it closer. Maybe whatever spooked him is in here.
I flip it open.
