All Chapters of Faking it with Beck Ryder: Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

"Nayla, you're live in thirty seconds."Marcus's voice crackled through my headphones. I pulled the microphone closer, checking my levels one more time. The studio was small, basically a closet with soundproofing and a mixing board that still had sticky keys from three years of iced coffee spills, but it was mine. For the next hour, at least."Got it," I replied, clicking my pen against the desk out of habit. A nervous tic I couldn't break.The campus radio station sat in the basement of the communications building. Three in the afternoon on a Wednesday meant my show, "Real Talk with Nayla," pulled maybe two hundred listeners on a good day. Most of them were probably working out in the gym, half-listening while they ran on treadmills. But I didn't care about the numbers. I cared about the truth. And on campus, truth was becoming a luxury.The theme music swelled—lo-fi hip-hop that I'd chosen specifically because it felt honest. Unpretentious. Not like most of the polished garbage that

Marcus leaned back in his chair. "Though I have to tell you, Nayla. The public loves a good redemption arc. And they love conflict even more. You have something every other student on this campus doesn't have. You have authenticity. You have a real reason to question him. You have something to prove."I looked at the folder again. The letter.My entire future, sitting on Dean Whitmore's desk, waiting for me to make the only choice that was actually a choice at all."How long would I have to do this?" I asked quietly."Eight weeks," Victoria said. "Through the championship season. The show airs weekly."Eight weeks. Sixty days. Four hundred and eighty hours of pretending. Of being near him. Of selling a lie to millions of people.Eight weeks for everything I'd ever wanted.I reached across the desk and picked up the letter.My hands stopped shaking."I want it in writing," I said. "All of it. The money, the fellowship nomination, everything. Before I film a single second."Marcus smile

I read the message three times, then deleted it. Not because I wanted to forget it, but because I needed to think clearly. Someone was pointing me toward Beck's best friend. Someone on the inside knew something.I sat at my desk in my room, my laptop open, and typed Theo's name into the search bar.What came up was exactly what you'd expect from a college hockey player. Instagram full of party photos. Twitter posts about games and teammates. A few news articles about his performance on the ice. Nothing suspicious. Nothing that screamed guilt.But absence can be suspicious too.I dug deeper. His social media history was spotty. Posts from two years ago existed, but there were weird gaps. Months where he hadn't posted anything. Then suddenly, activity resumed like nothing had happened.My phone buzzed.A text from Victoria: Tomorrow's shoot at 8 AM. Early call. Beck will pick you up at 7:30.I didn't respond. I just kept digging.I spent the rest of the night searching every database I