Page 137 of Play Fake
“I am not,” she says, very much lying.
“Uh-huh.” I shift, stretching my legs out on the bed, just enjoying the way her face softens when she looks at me. It’s stupid how fast a cramped hotel room feels less miserable when she’s on the other end of the screen.
“You look wiped.”
“Bus rides’ll do that,” I say. “We just ran some drills and reviewed strategy. Coach kept it light.”
She laughs softly, the sound slipping through the speaker like warm sunlight. “Well, you do have a big game tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” I pause, noticing the small dark circles under her eyes and how she keeps yawning. “You good?”
She nods, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day, though. I picked up some extra hours at the foster agency this morning.”
That gets my attention immediately. She doesn’t talk about it all the time, but when she does, there’s this light in her eyes that never fails to pull me in.
“Yeah?” I shift a little, angling the phone better. “How was it?”
She exhales, leaning back against her headboard. “Just the usual. But after the holidays, it seems to require a lot more emotional than physical support, and shockingly enough, the emotional side makes me more tired than the physical. I just keep reminding myself that giving those precious kiddos some love is more than worth it.”
She keeps going, her voice soft. “Today I filled in for one of the case aides. It’s exhausting, but it’s the good kind, you know? The kind that reminds me why I’m doing this.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. My throat feels tight in a way I didn’t expect. “Yeah, I get that.”
She gives me a little smile, one that says she knows I do.
There’s a beat of quiet, the kind that feels full, not awkward. Then she looks down at her hands, fiddling with a loose string on her sleeve. “I was actually going to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
She hesitates, then meets my eyes through the screen. “I started looking into what it would take for someone my age to qualify as a foster parent after graduation.”
I blink. “You mean now? You want to foster now?”
Her cheeks flush slightly, but she doesn’t look away. “Not right away, obviously. But…it’s something I’ve thought about a lot. The agency always talks about how there’s such a huge need, especially for older kids, teens, and sibling groups. And I know it’s not easy—like, Ireallyknow it’s not—but if I can be even a tiny piece of stability for someone who needs it, I want to try.”
Something in my chest lurches, unexpected and fierce. I sit up a little straighter, phone balanced against my knee.
She keeps talking, her voice quieter now. “I’ve seen so many kids age out or bounce from house to house. They start believing they’re temporary, like they’re just passing through everyone’s lives. And I don’t want that for them. I don’t want them to justsurvive it—I want them to have a place where theybelong, even if it’s only for a little while.”
I don’t interrupt. I can’t. My throat feels thick, my hands curling loosely in the blanket on my lap. I’ve heard people talk about fostering before—teachers, social workers, case managers. But no one’s ever talked about it the way she just did. Not with this muchheart.
Sophie exhales. “So I’ve been asking questions. About licensing requirements. Financial stuff. Training. It’s a lot, but…it feels right. Like the kind of future I want to build.”
Something clicks inside me then, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.Thisis who she is. Not just the girl who wears my shirt and makes me laugh until I can’t breathe. She’s the girl who sees a broken system and says,let me help.
And damn if that doesn’t do something to me.
“That’s…wow, Soph.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend.
She tilts her head. “What?”
I shake my head a little, a smile tugging at my mouth. “Nothing. Just…I think it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”
Her cheeks flush deeper, and she ducks her head. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.”
She looks back at me then, and for a second, neither of us says anything. It’s just her face on the screen, soft and open, and me sitting in a crappy hotel bed, realizing that somewhere between fake dating and late-night truck rides, this girl has carved herself so deep under my skin that I don’t even remember what it felt like before.
