Faking it with Beck Ryder

Nyla’s pov I didn’t expect him to look that calm, or act as calmly as he did. Not when his name had made the headlines for something that disgusting. Oh, well, not so surprising for a brute. The arena was louder than usual, but something about the vibe was off. It wasn’t excitement. It was something different. People whispered from every angle. Some, in hushed tones. Well, not so hushed because I could make out a few conversations. Not like I was eavesdropping or anything. They were just loud enough that I could hear and every now a name would cut through the noise like a blade. ‘Beck Ryder.’ You couldn’t go to this school and not know Beck Ryder. His face showed up on posters, promotional banners and all over social media. I mostly scrolled past them, never paying any attention to him, but that had suddenly changed. If I wasn't interested before, I am definitely interested now. I leaned my back against the cold metal railing as I watched him from across the ice. It wasn’t my kind of scene, but I had a damn good reason for being there. He was tall. It made him stand out in a way that screamed, "I belong on the ice.” His posture was sharp, and he had the kind of presence that didn’t need effort to be noticed. His hair was dark. He shook it sharply as he stood speaking to one of his teammates. “That’s him,” Tessa whispered. I didn’t understand why she had to anyway. “I know,” I said. “Doesn’t it feel weird?” Tessa asked. “What does?” She sighed. “The way he seems so unbothered.” She was right. He didn’t look nervous or angry. If anything, he looked focused. “It does,” I responded. It was strange. The players were lining up. The game was about to begin. Beck tightened his grip on his helmet before putting it on. The whistle blew and suddenly, everywhere fell silent. He moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, handling the puck with so much precision. It was harder to look anywhere else. “Okay, I get it now,” Tessa said, leaning into my ears. “What?” “Why people are so obsessed with him. He’s good.” I sighed. “That’s your big realization?” “No, I mean he’s really good.” She glanced at me. “Like, annoyingly good.” I couldn’t even argue with her because she was right. He might lack morals, but there was no denying that he knew what he was doing, and it annoyed me even more. As the game went on, the crowd reacted in different ways according to what was going on. There were cheers, screams, and panicked reactions all together. The energy in the arena finally caught up to what was happening. I could still hear judgments from the two girls sitting at my right-hand side. “Imagine him, playing like he’s innocent. Like he hasn’t done anything,” one said. “I know, right? A literal scumbag,” the other one responded, although she seemed more engrossed with her phone than the game. I couldn’t agree less. He seemed too relaxed, or maybe he was putting up this bold look so no one would suspect that it was all getting to him. He wasn’t phased and that was the problem because people like Beck Ryder didn’t fall easily, and sometimes they walked away from things they shouldn’t have. I’ve experienced it first hand and lived through the consequences of it. People of affluence can bury anything they need buried, but it was time someone stepped in and changed the narrative. By the time the final whistle blew, I felt more unsettled than I did when I had just arrived at the arena. I was sick to my stomach. Nothing had changed for him. He walked off the ice the same way he had stepped onto it. The hallway outside the arena was way quieter. The majority of the people who came to watch the game had left. Others were still conversing about the game; about him, and what they thought they knew. I felt my phone buzz in the back pocket of my jeans. A notification flashed across the screen. Unknown number That was weird. I frowned slightly as I tapped the message open. We’d like to invite you to participate in a university media program. I had confusion written all over my face. Anyone could tell that I was clearly caught off guard by whatever it is I was reading on my phone. Another message came through just as I was trying to wrap my head around the first one. It was from an unknown number also. Selected participants will work closely with student athletes to document personal and public narratives. OK, now I am starting to get extremely confused. I was confused before, now I am double confused. If that is even a word. “Everything okay?” Tessa asked, noticing the weird look of confusion I had all over my face. “I think I just got invited to something.” “What kind of something?” “Some sort of media program created by the university.” As if one que, another message appeared. You’ve been shortlisted, Nyla Hart. That made my heart skip a beat. This wasn’t random, but I was still so confused. Tessa pressed to ask what it was, and I told her that I had just been shortlisted. Her eyes widened. She seemed genuinely happy about this, but I didn’t feel the same way. “This is good, Ny. it’s literally what you love.” “I guess,” I muttered. “But I didn’t apply for anything.” “Maybe they found you. I mean, you’re literally a media student; one of the best. Who else if not you?” I shrugged. Maybe I was overthinking this. Another message came in. Tessa rushed to my side and peered into my phone. Final selections will be announced tomorrow. I stared at the screen for a second longer, then locked it. I didn’t know what this program was about or why I’d been chosen, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.