Archive of Our Own ^beta

Maya imagines spots blooming in the spilled moonlight on her plain white ceiling. The shadows twist and rise along the wall, and she follows them as she tries to ignore her roommates’ snores next to her. When she can’t sleep, she usually blares rock music in her headphones and waits to drift off, but Riley made her promise to stop because it was ‘bad for her eardrums’. So she watches as two a.m. drifts to three to four on her ceiling, all the while silently praying that her winter break isn’t a complete mess, because she doesn’t want to deal with any of the baggage she has stowed very neatly away for the past year. She likes to think it’s been successful, but logically, she knows it’s not, that her avoidance will inevitably culminate to a sad and awkward reunion and she’ll go home wishing she’d stayed at Syracuse for break. Not because she still has feelings for him, because she doesn’t (she’s over him, she reminds herself), but just that her situation is incredibly uncomfortable, and no one has ever wanted to see their ex-boyfriends after a year and a half. But regardless, she’s over him.

 Maya’s surroundings blow past her window in a blur, and each object she focuses on disappears quickly after.

“So, we’ve covered most of the necessary topics,” Riley starts, glancing at Maya before turning her gaze back to the road. “Except…” Riley pauses, waiting for a reaction.

“Except?”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine, honey.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Who?” Riley gives Maya an un-amused look, and Maya sighs. “In the past year and a half? Not yet, no.”

The pair falls silent again, and despite Maya’s inward insistence that no, she does not want to talk about it, she feels the need to say something. “I just don’t understand why he had to come back this year. His parents moved back to Texas.”

“Farkle asked him to, you know that.”

“Well, Farkle is stupid.”

“Sure he is,” Riley deadpans as she merges into the next lane. “You know, he asks about you.”

Maya doesn’t respond. Her heart clenches within her chest and her head spins and all she can see are memories of raspberry stained kisses and rough hands on hers and a huckleberry smile.

“That’s nice,” she finally says, stiff.

“I always feel bad when he asks me how you’re doing, especially this year, when you were doing so much better,” Riley continues, as Maya shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Mostly because you never ask about him. But I always try to tell him the truth.”

Maya can’t help it. She’s curious. “Which is?”

“Well, that you actually like your classes, but your roommate snores and leaves her clothes on your side of the room. That you got a little too drunk at a party the other week, but your friend took care of you. That always worries him a bit.” Riley shot a look at Maya, who is determinedly staring out the window. “And that I think, overall, college has been going really well for you. But, that you miss him. A lot. More than you will ever admit to yourself or me.”

Maya scoffs. “If that’s what you tell him, I can’t imagine the size of his ego right now.”

“You and I both know that Lucas has no ego when it comes to you,” Riley says, and Maya suddenly really wants this conversation to end. Because she can’t help but think about a year and a half of avoiding all things Texas and not eating blueberry pie because one time she smashed it in his face at a group outing. Of the box she keeps under her bed of all the pictures they took together and the page in her yearbook where they were voted class couple. Of the contact in her phone that seems to scream at her when she scrolls down because the last text she sent him was of some dumb meme about graduation. But no, Riley is wrong, because she can admit to herself that she misses him. It’s always just there, missing him. It’s embedded in her bones, and she carries it with her everyday, but it’s mostly just a constant hum in the back of her mind that reminds her of softer days with a good boy, and often times, it’s easier to just pretend it’s not there.

They stop at Maya's first, and the feel of her mom’s arms around hers calms her down for a minute. Shawn is standing behind Katy, wearing a cheeky grin and holding a single balloon with the words WELCOME HOME printed on it. She gives him a quick hug and goes to drop her bag off in her room, trying to stall time. Maybe the longer she is here, it will have some kind of butterfly effect on the timing of her dinner tonight. Her dinner, where she will see Lucas.

“Peaches! Let’s go, I have a family to see!” Riley’s voice calls from the kitchen, so Maya reluctantly comes out of her room to where Shawn, Katy, and Riley sit. 

It’s a short ride to the Matthews’ house, but Riley has trouble finding parking, so it takes them another thirty minutes to get there. Topanga, Cory, and Auggie are all there, and so are Josh and Eric. She hugs each of them, even though Eric still doesn’t get her name right, and she even marvels at how much Auggie has grown. They all fawn over each other, the way family does after a long time apart, and Maya wants it to be just this for the whole break.

Topanga made eggnog beforehand, and they all sit around the table and tell stories of their middle and high school days, laughing about the stupid things they did. The time passes by so quickly and effortlessly, Maya forgets what her plans for the night are, until Riley nudges her with her elbow and says, “You ready?”

Maya checks her watch and realizes it’s already six, and it takes a half an hour to get to the restaurant by subway, and she’s been sitting here for three hours already, although it only feels like one.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Riley says, quieter, this time, noticing her friend’s panicked expression. “I can tell them you’re sick or something.”

It’s a tempting offer, and though Maya wants to see her friends, she really wants to take Riley up on it, but she also knows she needs to prove to Riley that she’s okay. That she’s over him, and has been for a while, and that she can be completely mature about this situation. She’ll go to dinner, say hi to him, and maybe even smile at him in the middle of conversation. But she’ll sit on opposite ends of the table to ensure minimal interaction and tension. It’s a good, foolproof plan, she thinks, and she nods her acceptance to Riley.

That’s not what happens. When they get to the restaurant, Farkle and Smackle are already outside waiting for them, talking about something scientific, surely, and Riley pulls them both in for what looks to be a bone-crushing hug that shuts off their air supply, despite the fact that she talks to them all the time. Maya’s talked to Farkle a lot on the phone, and she even keeps in touch with Smackle sometimes, too, but she gives them each a hug anyway.

They stand outside in the cold waiting for Lucas and Zay, and the former is the first to show up, right on time. He’s wearing a black coat and a red scarf, his hands tucked into the pockets, and Maya thinks it’s either because he’s cold or nervous, or both. He looks so much older now: his jaw more chiseled and defined, hair a little longer but still short, taller and broader than he was at seventeen. When he sees them, he lifts his chin up in a slight nod, and hastens over with a smile. The sight of it – of him – makes Maya’s breath catch in her throat, her mouth dry because he used to do that nod when he saw her in the hallway before class and it feels like nothing has changed even though everything has. Her palms start to sweat despite the brisk weather because he’s almost here and she has no idea what to say.

“Lucas!” Riley yells, saving her, bounding forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. Farkle goes next, then Smackle, and then it’s just her left. No boundaries or walls between the two of them, no distractions to separate them, and she feels too vulnerable. His smile is a little less wide now, but not because he’s upset. She knows it’s because he’s hesitant, and she works up the courage to just open her mouth and say something.

“Hey, Huckleberry.”

His lips quirk upward at the nickname and he looks relieved, like he was waiting for her to make the first move. “Hey, Maya.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but at that moment, a hand claps him on the shoulder and Zay appears behind him.

“I’m late, I know! Spare me the lectures, I’m starvin’.” Zay hugs them each before opening the door to the restaurant theatrically and beckoning them inside.

Farkle, Riley, Smackle, and Zay all sit down first, leaving Maya and Lucas to sit in the last two seats right next to each other. No one had realized what happened until they were all seated, and although everyone’s reactions were quite clear – surprised, uncomfortable, wide-eyed, and excited – no one says a thing because the topic is just too uncomfortable to breach. Maya can feel Lucas’s shoulder and arm lightly touching hers, and it’s as if every cell in her body tingles from his presence. She moves slightly closer to Riley.

Farkle clears his throat. “So how is everyone?”

The rest of the dinner passes with talk of classes and new friends and reminiscing of old times, everyone scrambling to fill in the silence. Maya does her best to avoid looking at Lucas, or touching him, or mentioning him, as the rest of her friends laugh about some incident in the bay window. But every so often his fingers brush against hers on the table, and they both pull away quickly, avoiding eye contact, but it’s as if the energy between them bursts into flames, with the echo of a voice comparing them to fire. Intense and bright, but comforting, and everything a love should be and more, and she feels like there are still a couple embers left, like they aren’t just dirt and ash now. Or maybe that’s how they’d always be: unfinished.

Maya doesn’t mean for it to happen, but somehow she’s stuck walking to the subway with him. Riley, Farkle, and Smackle all take different trains, and Zay leaves to meet another friend. She’s pretty sure it’s an excuse to get her and Lucas alone and she vows to kill him tomorrow. The two of them walk in silence to the train station, both unwilling to be the first to speak. But it becomes so uncomfortable and tense that she finally blows caution to the wind and takes a breath to say something, but he beats her to it.

“So, your classes are good?” He says, giving her a cautious glance.

“Yeah, they’re good,” she replies, a tentative smile pulling at her lips.

“Good,” He nods. “That’s good.”

“Yeah. Good.”

They’re quiet again, turning a corner.

“This is a little awkward, isn’t it?” Lucas asks.

She can’t help but laugh, because he was always able to do that for her, to ease her tension. “Just a little, yeah.”

“It never used to be awkward between us.”

“Well, we’ve never broken up before.” And it’s out there now, she’s said it. The topic they were skirting around and avoiding, and maybe now is the time to say everything they’d never said before.

“And we’d never gone a year and a half without talking.”

She glances over in surprise at his derisive tone. His jaw is slightly clenched and his hands are out of his pockets, and she knows he isn’t that nervous anymore.

“You sound like it’s my fault,” she comments.

He sighs. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Because I don’t recall receiving any postcards from you.”

“I could say the same for you.”

She’s quiet for a bit, annoyed at the drastic change in conversation. And she wants to just say it, to clear the air and make him understand, because he’d always been able to do that. They walk down the stairs into station. She takes a deep breath. “It was too hard.”

His gaze snaps back to her after resolutely staring at the pavement. “What?”

“It was too hard,” She repeats. “To talk to you after…after we broke up. I wanted to call you everyday, but I knew if I did…” She trails off. “I needed a clean break.”

He nods, swallowing hard. The train comes then and he stands up, wiping his palms on his jeans and stuffing them back in his pockets. She follows him into the train car, watching his motions carefully. The car is empty except for the two of them and a couple making out at the very end.

“So why didn’t you?” She asks as they sit down. “Call, I mean.”

Lucas stares down at his hands before clearing his throat. “I guess I was just trying to get over you.” He looks at her then, and she realizes he is so much closer than she had thought. Maya had forgotten he had flecks of brown in his eyes.

“Did it work?” She doesn’t know why she says it and his raised eyebrows make her curse inwardly for even opening her mouth, but a part of her doesn’t regret it. Maya just wants a sliver of closure, the kind she’d never gotten before, because she supposes they’ve always been an open-ended question; unfinished, unanswered. If their timing had been better, if they’d met at a different place, then they wouldn’t be siting here, now, with oceans between them. Lucas has been quiet for a while, she realizes, and he’s still staring at her, eyes calculating but warm, like he’s trying to figure her out but doesn’t mind doing so. She can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and says, slowly: “Yeah, it did.”

They get off the next stop, and he walks her to her house like he used to, even after she assures him she is all right. She is about to turn around and go inside, when he catches her wrist. She sucks in a breath, turning to look up at him.

“Maya, I…” Lucas suddenly realizes what he is doing and lets go of her hand. “I miss you.”

She lets out the air she’s been holding in, shaking slightly, and gives a slight, reassuring smile. “I miss you, too, Huckleberry.”

“Do you think it’s easier now? For us to be friends, I mean?”

“Yeah, it’s easier.” Maya nods to him, turning back to her door. “Good night, Lucas.”

“Goodnight, Maya.”

Once she’s in her room, she takes a chance and sends him some picture of a cowboy hat she found a month ago that reminded her of him. He responds with a picture of a stack of pancakes. It's a start, she thinks.

They break up on a Sunday in late July. The sun blends into the horizon and peers through her window at the picture of the two of them, clasping hands, side by side on her bed. She wants to memorize him, draw him now in this moment, when his eyes are molten gold and he’s wearing a sad half-smile. She thinks this is the most beautiful she’s ever seen him, and it’s bittersweet (or just bitter).

“I guess it’s over, then,” she says, her heart breaking with every syllable she utters. She wants it to be different.

“I guess it is.” He squeezes her hand, tight but gentle, and runs a thumb over her knuckles, in that way that makes her catch her breath.

“Think you can get over me?” She jokes halfheartedly.

“No. I don’t think I can.”

Maya catches a glimpse of Riley’s brunette hair through the window and smiles to herself. She crawls through, her size not causing a problem because even after years, she still can’t seem to grow. Riley turns to her, all doe-eyed and wide smiles, practically bouncing in her seat.

“What’s got you so excited, Riles?”

“Zay texted me and said you and Lucas are going to be friends again,” Riley answers, grinning. “And after a year and a half of hard work to make this happen, I think I deserve to celebrate my victory. So, what happened?”

“Nothing. We just talked and I guess we’re trying,” She emphasizes the word as Riley’s smile seems to split her face open, “to be friends again. Barely.” She doesn’t want to get either her or Riley’s hopes up, because what if it ends terribly? Or Lucas changes his mind and decides a friendship with her isn’t worth his time? But then again, Lucas had to have told Zay what happened, or Riley wouldn’t know now.

“Well, I’m relieved,” Riley says, reaching an arm around Maya’s shoulders. “I’m so sick of having to act all awkward with you two. It’s exhausting.”

Maya snorts. “I’m so sorry you have to go through that.”

Riley sobers, though. “But honestly, is this gonna be okay for you? I mean, it won’t break your heart again, right? You won’t feel the need to punch him or jump him or something?”

“None of the above.”

“Good, because I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

So have I, Maya thinks.

Maya likes to pretend sometimes that she never pushed Riley into Lucas’s lap on the subway. That she’d never seen the way Riley’s eyes lit up when she saw him the first time, and instead, had just left their meeting at her own introduction. (Hi, I’m Maya. You’re really cute.) But she knows that in any alternate universe, she’d probably still be in the same predicament as she is in now, with the boy falling for the pretty brunette with love in her eyes and honey on her lips, and Maya would still be here, standing in the hallway, watching them walk away. And any chance she might have had she’d tossed out the window, or maybe she’d just given him the easy way out, so he’d get the girl he liked without having to break Maya’s heart.

Zay is the only one who knows what she did, how she feels. He hangs his arm low around her shoulders when Riley and Lucas meet them at lunch, makes excuses for her to escape when they’re being extra touchy. He kisses her temple to rile her up and flicks her forehead when he succeeds, and if she thinks she sees Lucas look slightly confused or annoyed at their behavior, she knows she’s probably imagining it. Mostly it serves to distract her from the constant dull pain she feels in her chest when she sees the perfect pair together, a reminder of her brokenness. She wants to be like the sun rising over rolling hills, but instead she gets rust and fire running through her veins, course and rough. She’s got a glass case around her heart now, never taking chances. She kisses lots of people at parties, like Missy Bradford, and even Charlie once, because she knows he feels the same way, but never goes out with them for too long. They taste like peppermint and sweet tea and emptiness, and she hugs herself close at night to forget how it felt to be looked at with wild, loving eyes by a campfire.

When Riley and Lucas break up at the end of freshman year, declaring it just wasn’t working, Maya feels lighter than ever. But Riley is so broken by the shattering of her childhood fantasy that Maya tamps her feelings further down, because no one has ever loved her the way Riley does, and she knows she will sacrifice everything for that.

Maya and Lucas do try to be friends, and it works well, actually. They don’t hang out alone, not yet, but sometimes they’ll text each other pictures, or sit together on the couch during a group movie night. That’s what happens one night. The six of them are watching Ocean’s Eleven at Riley’s, the two of them in the corner of the couch, the rest of the group on the other end or sprawled on the floor. His knee is pressed against hers, barely, and he’s solid, warm. It’s just like when they were dating, and she would rest her head on his shoulder, nestled under his arm, completely comfortable. This time, though, she leans against Farkle on her left.

“You know what I’ve always wanted?” Maya prompts when they’re lying in her bed one night, and she’s staring at their entwined hands above them. She likes to trace the space between their fingers with her eyes, count the calluses on his palms. “Those glow-in-the-dark gel stars that you can put on your ceiling.”

He laughs. “Really? Why?”

“Well, Riley had them when we were little. I used to fall asleep looking at them when I stayed at her house. They were the kind of thing that girls with great families and nice homes have,” She takes a deep breath. Maya and Lucas have talked about this before: her insecurities and self-doubt. How she’s cut from broken glass and incomplete stars, shards of something whole. His other hand is wrapped around her shoulders and he uses it to smooth down her hair in comfort. “I always wanted that.”

“You can still have them.”

“No,” she laughs. “I’m a little old for them now. And...they’re not made for girls like me.”

“You mean smart, beautiful, brave girls?”

She mimes gagging in response and he laughs.

“No, seriously,” he says. “What kind of girls?”

She looks at him slowly: “Broken girls.”

“You’ve always seemed whole to me,” he responds, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, soft. She swears he looks at her like she holds a universe in her eyes, and she wants to tell him it’s not worth it, she’s not worth it, not for him.

The group is all together in Zay’s dorm at NYU, passing a cheap vodka around in a circle like a perfect cliché. Zay’s roommate is gone for vacation, and they all went up to drink.

“Now, this is what vacation is s’posed to be,” Zay comments, taking a swig from the bottle and grimacing. He passes it to Maya on his right, who lifts the bottle up to him in a toast, before bringing it to her lips for a big gulp.

“Easy there, Maya,” Lucas says from his seat next to her, grabbing the handle. “You and I both know you’re not very good at holding your liquor.”

Maya pulls a face, offended. “I throw up one time, and you still never let me forget it.” She makes a show of taking the bottle back.

“You threw up on my shoes! My mama found out and grounded me for a week because she thought I was drinking, too!”

“You were,” Maya reminds him. “Your mama has never liked me anyway. And I’ll have you know that I go to a party school, so I have become trained in the ways of drinking.” As if to prove a point, she takes another swig from the bottle, keeping eye contact with him as she does so. She holds in a cough as she swallows because its is so strong but she can’t let him think she can’t handle it. It’s a challenge now, as he stares at her, lips quirking up in a smug but amused smile. She’s only a little tipsy, she thinks, and she raises her eyebrows at him, holds out the bottle, an invitation. “Think you can beat me, Huckleberry?”

He grabs the handle from her, his fingers brushing against hers on the glass, and leans infinitesimally closer. “Oh, I can drink you under the table, Maya.” He leans his head back to take a giant sip, and almost gags as the cold liquor travels down his throat like he’s swallowing paint. Lucas hides his reaction unsuccessfully, and he knows he’s already lost the little game they had by glancing at Maya, who is cackling next to him, head thrown back and shoulders shaking, and he realizes he hasn’t seen her laugh like this in so, so long.

“All right, that’s enough for now,” Riley says as she leans over and snatches the bottle from Lucas’s hands while he’s distracted. “You two are way too competitive for your own good.”

Maya stops laughing when she realizes what Riley’s done. “You’re cutting us off?”

“It’s just for now, so you don’t try to outdrink each other to death.”

Maya scowls and leans back on her hands.

“Sorry, Peaches, I have to be the mom friend tonight,” Riley says, handing the bottle to Farkle next to her.

“Honey, you’re always the mom friend.”

“Someone here has to be responsible!”

“I propose a game of Never Have I Ever!” Zay, who is in possession of the bottle of vodka again, announces loudly, his words a little slurred.

“What are we, fifteen?” Maya scoffs.

“Embrace the cliché, sugar,” Zay responds, winking. “Never have I ever…been stoned when talkin’ to the Matthews.” He swung his head dramatically to look at Maya, raising his eyebrows. She reaches her hand out for him to place the bottle in and drinks.

Choruses of what?! and Maya! echo around the circle.

“They visited me at Syracuse and I thought they were coming later!” She explains, putting her hands up in a surrender.

“Did they know?” Lucas asks, his face a mixture of surprise and admiration.

“I don’t know, probably,” she shrugs in response. “Okay, never have I ever ridden a bull.”

Lucas takes a sip, unimpressed with her obviously contrived answer. “Never have I ever cried over a picture of a beluga whale,” he says, handing her back the bottle. The rest of the group laughs while Maya looks shocked.

“Oh my God, I was on my period!” she cries, giving the bottle to Riley. “Stop airing my dirty laundry, Ranger Rick.”

“But it’s just so easy.”

“I believe it is my turn now,” Smackle interrupts them. “Never have I ever received less than an A on an assignment.”

“Never have I ever serenaded someone.”

“Never have I ever done something illegal in the bay window.”

And it goes like this for a while, until the bottle is almost empty, and none of them are really sure of what they’re saying anymore.

“Never have I ever actually been to Zay’s house.”

“Never have I ever done hard drugs.”

“None of us have done that.”

Until: “Never have I ever been in love.” Riley says it, without thinking, giggling into the mouth of the bottle. “I mean really, truly, deeply, I-know-it-for-sure-and-I-don’t-doubt-it-for-a-second love. I’ve never had that.” She sighs, silent for a minute as the rest of the group fidgets in their seats. “So, who needs to drink?”

Farkle and Smackle each take small sips, and the latter unceremoniously hands the bottle over to Lucas. He stares at it for a bit, silent and contemplating, at the last inch or so of vodka swishing around at the bottom, before taking a slow swig. He sets it down on the floor in front of him and leans back, eyes fixed on it. Maya looks at him as he gazes intensely at the vodka handle, and she can’t quite figure out what he’s doing. So she takes the bottle from the floor and finishes the last of it, and she knows his gaze snaps to hers the minute she does it, because she can always feel when he’s looking at her. It makes her feel alive, like a charged wire, a mess of atoms. He watches her as she sets the bottle down in front of him again, and she doesn’t understand why he’s surprised. Because she has been in love. Really, truly, deeply, know-it for-sure-and-don’t-doubt-it-for-a-second love. Doesn’t he know that? They stare at each other, eyes locked in a heated gaze that seems to have been going on for centuries by this point, until Zay clears his throat and stands up from the circle. “I think that means we’re done. Ya’ll can crash here. I’m gettin’ in bed.”

The rest of them either collapse on the couch or in Zay’s other roommates’ room. Maya just lies back on the wood floor and closes her eyes, ready to fall asleep.

“Why don’t you go sleep in the bed?” Lucas is hovering above her, looking at her with soft eyes. She closes her eyes again because it’s easier that way, not to see it.

“I can’t move.”

He chuckles at her, and she scowls. “Is that so?”

She opens one eye at him, still frowning. He’s spinning a bit. “Are you mocking me, Huckleberry?”

“Not at all, just trying to point out that you may not be so great at holding your liquor after all.”

“Says the one slurring right now,” she retorts. “I’ll have you know that I have done a lot of things.”

“Like getting high and spending the day with the Matthews?” He holds his hand out for her to grab and they pull each other up. She’s dizzy, and she immediately feels ten times drunker when standing, and she trips over her feet, falling into Lucas’s arms, her head pressed against his chest.

“Oh-kay, keep steady,” Lucas says, wrapping an arm around her to keep her standing.

“And I’ve gone to Zay’s house.”

“We’ve both done that.” They’ve stumbled to the bed now, and he helps her up, his hands settling on her hips. Maya notices that he is very close right now, coming in focus.

“And I’ve been in love.” She says it, quiet and shy, because his hands are so warm and his eyes are so green and she’s so drunk.

“Me too.” His gaze falls to her lips and it stays there for a second before meeting her eyes again. Maya thinks if she leans in just a little bit – he swallows. “You should get some rest.”

She moves her head back slightly, and nods, and his palm pushes on her hip to get her to lie down, so she does. Her eyes are already closing when she feels his lips brush against her forehead. She hums in content because he’s always so gentle with her, holding her like silence. As if he’s physically tender with her, it will compensate for all the words that have broken her. She doesn’t mind.

He comes to her window one day, early in the morning. The sun is a light gold on the blue horizon, remnants of the moon still hanging low in the sky. Maya is relaxing on her bed, sketching, because everything is more beautiful at the beginning and end of the day. Lucas knocks on the glass to get her attention and he swear he sees her eyes light up when she sees him and opens the window.

“To what do I owe this great pleasure of having Lucas Friar crawl through my window?” She says dramatically in a British accent.

“Just by existing,” he smirks at her and sits in her desk chair once he’s inside,, as if no time has passed since they’ve last done this. “Actually, I wanted to see if you would go Christmas gift shopping with me.”

“Christmas gift shopping?” Maya raises her eyebrows at him. “You do realize Christmas is, like, three days away, right?”

“Thank you for informing me, but yes, I do realize that. I just forgot to get a couple people gifts – completely slipped my mind, really – and I thought you’d like to join me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t actually like to,” she smiles at him and he scoffs. “But I do have to get Farkle a present.”

“You forgot to get Farkle a present?”

“No, I didn’t forget, I was just mad at him.”

“Care to explain why?”

“It’s unimportant now.” Telling him the reason would make it way too awkward between them, so she just hops off the bed and goes to grab a change of clothes. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah, uh, what’s this?” Lucas gets off the chair to look at Maya’s sketch, inspecting it.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a drawing.” She brushes his comment off, turning back to her closet.

“It’s beautiful, Maya,” He traces his thumb over the careful lines she drew. “I mean, really, you’re so talented.”

“Uh, thanks.” She ducks her head to hide her smile, even though she’s facing away from him. “But you have to leave the room so I can change.”

He laughs and puts his hands up in a surrender. “As you wish.”

He comes over to do homework a lot, and she sits on the bed with pencils and her sketchbook. She draws sunsets and passersby and houses, and sometimes she draws him. Maya likes the way the light hits his jawline and casts shadows across his chest, the way he fiddles with his pen and nods when he laughs at her. She likes to draw beautiful things, so she draws him.

“Don’t forget my abs,” Lucas says, smirking at her from his chair. They’re not dating yet, but they’re in some sort of weird limbo now that she can’t quite figure out. Maya rolls her eyes at him and blushes because how did he know she was drawing him?

“Don’t flatter yourself, Friar.”

“Fine. Can I at least see it?” He asks, holding his hand out for her sketchbook.

“Good try, but no.” Maya clutches the book closer to her chest.

“Come on, I’ve seen your artwork before,” He stands up now, walking towards her. “Plus, it’s of me, so I think that gives me the right to look.”

“Exactly, and you’re just so ugly, I really don’t want to hurt your feelings,” she says, fake sincere, furrowing her eyebrows together as she peers up at him.

“Shut up.” He’s laughing though, and Maya loves to make him laugh. When she’s grinning back, he takes advantage of her distraction and grabs the sketchbook. She jumps up when she realizes what’s happened, reaching to retrieve it.

“Lucas, you fucking assho–”

“–Woah.”

“Woah what?” Maya grabs his arm to try and take the sketchbook back but he turns away from her. “Look, I know the shading is all wrong and your nose is too big, but I warned you.”

“Maya,” he turns back to look at her, with wonder in his eyes and lips spread in a bright smile. “It’s amazing. How the hell did you do this?”

“What, really?” Her hands fall down to her sides.

“Yeah, it looks so realistic and natural.”

She sits back down on the bed, wringing her hands. “It’s not that good.”

“Stop it,” he says, sitting next to her. “You’re like the best artist I’ve ever met.”

“You must not have met a lot of artists, then.”

He pauses, considering it. “Okay, well, no, I haven’t, but still.”

“Still?”

“Still. You create something beautiful out of something ordinary,” Lucas passes the sketchbook back to her, his face serious, like he’s trying to make sure his point gets across. “You should just…never stop drawing.”

She takes the book back from him, nodding, and she wants to tell him that nothing about him is ordinary. “Okay. I won’t.”

Maya isn’t sure if she should buy Lucas a present or not. She wasn’t lying when she said she needed to buy Farkle a present, because she had refused to when she found out he convinced Lucas to come back to visit, but now she’s not so mad anymore. And Lucas and her are in a weird limbo again. They’re friends, if not tentative ones, but she’s just not sure if they’re the kind of friends who buy each other Christmas presents. And if they are those kind of friends, then what gift would she even buy him?

She mulls it over as they walk down the street in Union Square, and she’s deciding whether to buy him something serious or funny when he interrupts her inner monologue.

“Hey, I’ve got to run to this store really quickly. Can I meet you in the park in, like, fifteen minutes?” He points to the store they’ve stopped in front of. It’s a kid’s arts and crafts store. At her raised eyebrows he says, “It’s for my cousin.”

“Sure,” she says sarcastically. “I’ll see you soon, then.” And she walks away from him, mentally scanning her mind for some sort of idea. Because what if she gets him a heartfelt, serious gift and he gets her something casual? Or worse, nothing? It’s easier, she thinks, to keep a safe distance. She’ll get him something meaningful enough that she can still pass off as a joke if she needs to. She’s learned from experience that those she’s loved never seem to love her back as much. And she loves in shades of red, too intense and harsh to protect herself. Riley tells her she has a selective memory, using old wounds to justify pushing away good things, and she knows, logically, that Lucas has never been like that. Lucas has always loved her back in spades. With every inch of his heart and corner of his mind, because that’s the way Lucas loves, even if she could never figure out why she was on the receiving end. But that’s in the past; she knows that, so she walks into Ricky’s at the end of the block.

They meet back at the park, like promised, and he buys her a sandwich and iced coffee from a deli nearby, and they sit on a bench in the square to eat. They’re a little quiet at first, because they’re still getting used to it, this strange arrangement they’ve created, but then he makes fun of the mustard on the corner of her lips and wipes it off with a napkin, and she tells him to buy me dinner first, Huckleberry.

“I did,” Lucas says, gesturing to her sandwich.

“This is lunch, actually,” she replies, quick. She wants to end this conversation now, because the implications are too complicated and uncomfortable for her to address. She’s not sure if exes are supposed to flirt this much.

“So, what’s in the bag?” Lucas asks.

“Farkle’s present. You were with me, remember?”

“Yes, thank you very much,” he rolls his eyes. “I meant the other one inside it.”

“Oh, that’s just um…bunny ears.” She’s not lying, technically – she did buy bunny ears – but just omitting information.

“Huh?” He raises his eyebrows. “Are you, like, a kinky dancer for some gentlemen’s club or something?”

“A kinky dancer for a gentlemen’s club? Seriously, Ranger Rick?” He shrugs in response. “No, they’re for Riley. Just an extra part to her present.”

Maya’s finished her sandwich by now, so they’re just sitting side by side on the bench. She’s about to suggest they head home, because she’s not sure what else to do, but Lucas turns to her and says:

“Let’s go ice skating.” His face is bright and his smile wide, and he looks so earnest.

“Sorry?”

“Let’s go ice skating,” he repeats. “We used to do it every year.”

“I know that,” Maya says, confused. She’s not sure how to handle this – spending so much time with him. But, she thinks, he really does look incredibly eager, and she’s never liked letting him down. So, she acquiesces, “Fine. But we’re not even touching Rockefeller Center, okay?”

“Okay, we can go to Chelsea Piers, then.”

“Skate indoors? That’s just immoral.”

He scoffs. “What about the rink in Battery Park City?”

“Too small,” she shuts him down. “Your days in Texas have severely ruined you, Huckleberry. We’re going to Central Park.” Maya jumps off the bench, already walking toward the subway station.

“Central Park? Isn’t that just as touristy as Rockefeller Center? And expensive?”

“Slightly less so, and you’re paying, aren’t you?” She smirks back at him, and when she turns back around, she can hear him laugh behind her and hurry to catch up.

The crisp December wind kisses Maya’s nose and cheeks as she glides across the smooth ice. Her skin blossoms red, but she can’t decide if it’s from the cold weather or the way Lucas smiles at her as they circle a bend. He’s not a very good skater, which she vividly remembers from years ago, and he often loses his balance as they move. He hasn’t fallen yet, though, so she keeps skating away from him, laughing as he tries to regain control, large limbs flailing in the air. When he catches up to her, he grins and tugs playfully on her wool scarf.

“You know, it’s not very friendly to skate away from someone when they’re about to fall on their ass,” Lucas points out.

“When have I ever been very friendly?”

“Good point.”

“If you need someone nice so badly, Ranger Rick, go find Riley,” she’s skating backwards from him now, and she’s only half-serious, honestly. She knows that ended a long time ago, but she’s always thought that he needed someone good, because she will always be the girl who holds him back.

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Maya is about to respond when he slips backwards and falls flat on his back. She’s shocked for a second before he says, “Fuck!” and groans. She bursts into laughter and skates toward his body, holding her hand out for him to grab. When he hesitates she sighs, saying, “Limited time offer, Huckleberry, so brush off your bruised ego and get off your ass or I’m skating away again.”

He takes her hand and steadily gets to his feet. “Why did I suggest ice skating, again?”

“Aw, did the ice hurt poor Ranger Rick?” She’s pouting, mocking him.

“Badly, yes.” He still hasn’t let go of her hand. Maya rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the familiarity of their repartee, and skates away, pulling him along behind her.

Maya and Zay skate side by side underneath the light snow. When the flakes drift down they stick their tongues out to catch them and let it melt in their mouths. Farkle, Smackle, Riley, and Lucas are all behind them because Maya and Zay are the best skaters of the group. They chat about something mundane as they move across the ice, and eventually they go so fast that their friends are all in front of them. Farkle and Smackle are just ahead of Riley and Lucas, and Maya assumes they’re discussing some scientific theory. Riley and Lucas are skating next to each other, and Riley smiles and nods at something Lucas says. Lucas makes a gesture and almost loses his balance, but Riley grabs him and they laugh it off. Maya wants to feel annoyed or upset, but they honestly look content.

She thinks Lucas still likes Riley. Not entirely consciously, of course, but she thinks there’s something still there. Because who wouldn’t like Riley? Riley is sweet and safe and lovely, like daffodils. She blooms before you, open and beautiful, with no scars to heal or wounds to mend. Riley is the kind of girl boys like.

“So are you ever gonna tell him how you feel or just continue with this whole I’m-too-broken-for-love shit,” Zay says to her, because he always seems to notice when she’s watching Lucas.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maya decides to play dumb, even though she knows it’s futile. Zay gives her a frustrated look.

“He doesn’t like Riley,” He continues.

“How do you know?” She’s quiet, because she swears Lucas does. Nothing else makes sense.

“Because he hasn’t liked Riley for the past two years! To be honest, I don’t even think he really even liked her when they were dating!”

“Look at them, Zay,” Maya responds, gesturing to the pair. Her heart races because what does Zay mean Lucas didn’t like Riley when they were dating? “Tell me they don’t look like they like each other.”

“No, they look like friends. Just like you and I are friends. But you and Lucas…that’s somethin’ else entirely.” Zay looks down at her, with a face that she’s seen hundreds of times before, trying to convince her to get over herself. And she wants to, she does, because most of the time it’s entirely too exhausting to watch Riley and Lucas from the sidelines and stew in her own worries about their possibly existent feelings. Maya wants to read too much into the looks Lucas gives her, or the lingering touches that leave her skin burning, or the way he waits for her after class and walks her to her locker. She wants to let herself analyze his actions, and stop reigning herself in at every turn, but that would only make her feel worse, because she did that once, and it didn’t work out.

Zay sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look. Lucas liked the way Riley made him feel. She did wonders for his fragile ego. Riley made Lucas feel good about himself, but that’s all he really liked. He talked and she swooned, and maybe their relationship was a little more than that, sure, but they broke up for a reason: they didn’t have those real feelings for each other. But I think that you, Maya…you make him feel good in a completely different way, for completely different reasons. You do it just by being you, and makin’ fun of him, and I think you inspire him to be better, but not to hide his faults.”

“Are you done, sap?” But Maya is fidgeting with her scarf because of his words.

“Stop. You’re hidin’ from your feelings again. Lucas doesn’t like Riley, and Riley doesn’t like Lucas, but you sure as hell do. You two could be like the power couple of the world if you just fuckin’ say something. Plus, I’m sick of dealing with your triangle drama. So, tell him.”

“Ugh, but it’s just so much easier this way!” Maya says, dramatically throwing her head back in fake frustration.

“Is it really?” Zay laughs, sarcastic.

Just then large hands grip Maya’s shoulders, shaking them in an effort to scare her, but instead of making her off-balance, the hands slip from her shoulders and a thud sounds from behind her. When she turns around, there’s Lucas, grinning boyishly while lying flat on the ice. All she can do is laugh at him as Zay reaches out a hand for Lucas to grab.

“You’re pathetic,” She says, gasping for air.

“No need to laugh at my skating ineptitude, Maya.” He says, dusting the snow from his pants.

“There is definitely a need.” She replies. At his returned smile, she grabs his hand and skates away, ignoring Zay’s pointed look at her. “Come with me, Ranger Rick, and you’ll never fall again.”

When they get back to her house, they’re both coated in snow, fingers frozen and lips red, and they take off their jackets and head to the kitchen. Lucas makes her hot chocolate, and he still remembers where everything goes, like it was yesterday that he’d make her dinner at her house on a Saturday night and they would watch rock band documentaries. He puts a cinnamon stick and three big marshmallows in her cup the way Maya likes and puts The Kids Are Alright in the CD player (because for some reason her mom still owns one). She sits down next to him on the couch – a safe distance away of course – and he drapes a blanket over the two of them, pressing play.

“You remembered it’s my favorite,” Maya remarks, surprised.

“Of course I remember, you only made me watch it fifty times.”

“Right, I just thought…” She trails off as he looks at her, brows furrowed slightly. “Never mind.”

When Katy and Shawn come home, they stop in their tracks at the sight of Lucas and Maya on the couch. Katy gives Maya a knowing smirk and moves to usher Shawn out of the room, but Maya calls for them to sit down and watch. Because it’s not like they’re on a date or something. They’re just friends.

“Teenage Wasteland really is a fantastic song,” Lucas comments as they watch Roger Daltry belt into the microphone.

“It’s called Baba O’Riley, not Teenage Wasteland,” Maya says. Her feet are propped up on his lap, a bowl of popcorn balancing precariously on her stomach.

“Same thing.”

“Sacrilege.” She moves her foot up to kick him playfully, but he grabs her ankle before she can. “I can’t believe you’d say something like that. Why am I dating you, again?”

“You love me,” He says, moving her legs off of his lap and putting the popcorn bowl on the table before settling over her, arms on either side of her head.

“You disgust me.”

“Mmh,” and he presses his lips against hers, a soft and slow kiss, his tongue barely tracing her lips. Maya sighs into his mouth, and arches up below him, before pulling back.

“I’m trying to watch a movie here, Huckleberry.”

“Of course,” he smirks and kisses her again, quick this time, and sits up straight on the couch. “So what’s the difference between Keith Moon and Kurt Cobain?”

“Oh my God!” She groans, throwing a popcorn kernel at his head.

On Christmas Eve, Maya wakes up to Shawn cooking bacon in the kitchen and Katy sitting cross-legged on the floor writing notes for the presents. Maya steals a piece of bacon from the plate next to the stove and sits next to her mom on the floor.

“Hey, baby girl,” she says, capping her pen. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, mom.”

Maya never really liked Christmas much as a kid. It was a holiday of hope and family, and those were nothing more than distant concepts to Maya. Her mom always had to work on Christmas, so Maya would go to the Matthews’, and they would give her presents and hug her and kiss her cheeks, but she wanted that from her own father and mother. She wanted eggnog and trimmings and waking up early to stuffed stockings and a present, instead of tuna melts in a dimly lit diner. She’s not quite used to this yet, but she’s praying every day that it never goes away.

“Are you excited for the Matthews’ tonight?” Her mom asks, starting a new note.

“Yeah,” Maya replies absentmindedly. “But it just means I’m that much closer to going back to school and not seeing my friends again.”

“Of course, I’m sure that’s what you’re worried about,” Katy turns her gaze from what she’s writing to Maya, with a face that looks as if she knows some secret about her. “Your friends.”

“Yes…”

“Not a certain Texan ex-boyfriend?” Katy raises her eyebrows.

“Oh God, Mom, no!” Maya gets up from the floor and walks away. She can’t deal with this right now.

“I’m just saying, you’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” Katy says, following Maya to the kitchen counter. “Especially after you waxed poetic for a year about how you couldn’t talk to him because you ‘needed to get over him.’”

“And I did. Which is exactly why I can talk to him now.”

“Because you’re over him,” Katy says, voice flat.

“Exactly.”

“Right.” She’s sarcastic.

“You don’t believe me?” Maya asks in disbelief.

“Not at all.”

“Shawn, would you please tell my mother that I am completely over Lucas Friar?” Maya says, turning to Shawn.

“I don’t know, Maya. You two looked pretty close on the couch the other day.” Shawn puts the now cooked plate of bacon on the counter before them.

“I asked you to watch with me!” Maya replies, gesturing wildly. Shawn and Katy share an amused look. “Oh yeah, please keep laughing at my expense. But I swear that I am over him.”

The two adults nod sympathetically in her direction.

“Eat your bacon,” Katy says.

When they get to the Matthews’, Riley opens the door with an extravagant pair of reindeer antlers on her head, and embraces Maya in a bone-crushing hug. Nat King Cole is serenading them from a distant room and the tree is lit up like a cluster of stars, tinsel draped over every surface. Maya notices mistletoe hanging up from random spots on the ceiling. It’s a familiar sight.

“Merry Christmas, Peaches!” Riley says to her after their hug and places a glittering red Santa hat on her head.

“Thanks, Honey,” Maya kisses her on the cheek before walking into the apartment. Lucas, Farkle, and Smackle are all already there, and she assumes Zay is late, so she sits by Lucas’s side, because that’s the only available seat left.

“Merry Christmas, Maya,” he says to her as she sits down.

“Merry Christmas, Huckleberry. Any cowboy traditions you’d like to share with us on this holy day?”

“Actually, we put red chilies and garlic on our trees.”

“And a lone star on top?”

“Of course.”

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

He only laughs at her in response, and she’d be lying if she said if it didn’t make her heart flutter at the sound.

When everyone else finally shows up, they eat Topanga’s lavish dinner, stuffing themselves until each of them has to lie motionless in the living room before opening presents. Topanga and Cory go first, then Amy and Alan, then Katy and Shawn. When the younger generation opens their gifts, they realize Smackle has each given them identical pairs of socks. Zay gives each of them a music record and Farkle presents them all with something scientific that Maya doesn’t want to understand but will probably keep on her shelf.

Riley gives her a locket with a picture of the two of them when they were little. It’s a little worn around the edges and yellowing, like Riley had dug it up from an old photo book, but she and Riley are grinning, arms wrapped around each other, with cotton candy smiles and bright eyes, sitting in the bay window. Riley loves the personalized candles Maya bought her and squeals when she sees the bunny ears, putting them on her head along with the reindeer antlers.

Lucas opens Maya’s present last, and her heart and head are both pounding, syncopated, sending her brain into a dizzy because she’s still so worried about his reaction. When he sees the little note on the wrapping that reads: To Lucas, From Maya, he seems taken aback.

“You got me a present?” He turns to her on the couch. If she’s not imagining it, she thinks he looks happy, or at the very least pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah, but don’t get too excited, Huckleberry. It’s really not a big deal,” She says, playing it off.

He carefully peels the tape off and tears off the wrapping paper to find the box, and he pauses to look at her skeptically. She motions for him to continue. When he opens the box and looks at the contents, he stops for a minute, staring blankly. Maya wants to ask if everything is okay, because she was definitely not expecting no reaction at all, but after a few seconds his lips start to quirk up and he breaks into a grin, pulling the cowboy hat out of the bag and placing it on his head, turning his body to face hers and resting an elbow on his knee in the way she’s so familiar with.

“Howdy,” Lucas says it with an over-exaggerated accent, and he can’t stop smiling.

“You like it?” Maya replies.

“It’s great. Thanks, Maya.”

She nods in response, and after a beat of silence he reaches over to pick up a small rectangular box underneath the tree and hands it to her.

“It’s your present,” he clarifies at her furrowed eyebrows, and he’s fidgeting. “From me.”

“Oh,” she takes the box from him, turning it over in her hands to inspect it. “Thanks.”

“Just see what it is first.”

Maya raises her eyebrows at him before ripping open the wrapping paper on the back side of the box. When she turns it over, it says Glow-in-the-Dark Stars, with pictures of little white stars scattered on the front.

“I remember you saying you always wanted them, and I thought you could put them in your dorm room or something, or in your apartment here, or you don’t have to, I just thought…” He trails off, because now she’s silent from his present, staring shell-shocked at the fine block letters. “Maya?”

“You…” She falters slightly. “You remembered that I wanted glow-in-the-dark stars?” She looks up at him now, at his soft eyes and fumbling hands, searching for some answer or explanation in his anxious expression.

“Yeah, well, I just remember you telling me that, and I wasn’t really sure what to get you for Christmas, and this was the first thing that came into my head, and now I’m a little worried it’s stupid.”

She laughs, pushes her hair back behind her ears. “It’s not. It’s not stupid. And I got you a cowboy hat.”

“It’s a really nice cowboy hat.”

When she looks at him again she thinks her heart stops, only slightly, because he always makes her feel like she’s risking everything just by taking a breath. He has on his half-smile he makes whenever they’re playing their game, the smile she likes to think he saves in a pocket of his heart for her, but maybe that’s a little self-centered now. She was once a world to him, and he to her, but they’ve drifted eons since then until they became merely specks of dark matter to each other. She wants to tie a rope between their stars and pull them back together, into a new orbit.

“There’s mistletoe above ya’ll,” Zay breaks the silence and stuffs a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “You know the rules.”

When they both chance a look above them, they notice the saturated green leaves floating below the ceiling. Maya looks down at Lucas before he does to her. She can’t quite prove it, but she’s pretty sure Zay set this up. Lucas is still staring at her, quiet, and his Adam’s apple bobs slightly and he quirks an eyebrow at her, waiting. He’s never been one to make the first move. So she moves closer, barely, and parts her lips as she flits her eyes to him and back up again. His eyes are watching her closely and she turns her head to the side, watches him swallow, and presses her lips to his cheek, open-mouthed. She lingers for only a second or two, his cheek warm and breath tingling her ear, before she pulls away and puts his present on the coffee table, leaning back on the couch and actively avoiding any and all eye contact. From the corner of her eye she can see that Lucas is still blinking, before he recovers and settles back in his regular seat. They carry on with the presents.

Lucas and Maya sit quietly side by side in Washington Square Park, one headphone in each ear, while Maya moves a blue pencil lightly over her sketchbook. It’s mid-February, a soft wind swaying the budding trees and it’s almost six now, and Lucas came with her to paint the sunset. He never disturbs her when she’s drawing, only nodding his head in time to the music and watching her blend the purple and yellow hues.

When the night overtakes the sky, she puts her pencil down and tucks her sketchbook underneath her arm. They stand up together and walk through the park in silence. They don’t need to say anything. He only makes sure she is taking their usual train, and when they get to the gate of the park, he stops, grabbing her hand so she does the same. Maya gives him a quizzical look because he’s staring at her intensely, not speaking.

“Lucas?”

“Can I say something?” He bursts out, the words stringing together in a ramble.

“Okay…” She tilts her head, trying to figure him out.

He takes a deep breath, but instead of talking, he leans down an inch, hesitating. He’s still holding her hand, she notices as she glances down at their entwined fingers. When she moves her head back up, he’s closer still. His eyes flit to her lips and back up again, and her breath catches in her throat, still and scared.

“Lucas…”

There’s barely space between them, only an inch or two, and she can see his scattered freckles over the bridge of his nose, the lines of his bottom lip, the shadows cast by the streetlights above them, the reflection of the half moon in his green eyes, and she tilts her head up, decreasing the space by one more centimeter, and he closes it, pressing his lips against hers.

Although her lips are parted, she keeps them still for a moment, and they’re frozen in time under floodlights and stars, their hands still laced together by their sides. In a second they both move together, slowly. Lucas’s lips are chapped and cold from the late winter air, but she runs her tongue over his bottom lip and suddenly they’re both warm. They’re a little off-rhythm with each other at first, but when he moves a hand to cup the side of her head and she wraps an arm around his neck, they find a harmony between them that’s always been there. They stand like this for what seems like hours but must have been a couple minutes at most, and when they break apart, breathless and spinning, Maya lets go of his hand.

“I’m in love with you.” Lucas says it quick, in one rushed breath, still shaken.

“What?”

“I’m in love with you. Have been for awhile actually,” He wrings his hands in front of him. “And…I think you love me, too.” He’s searching her eyes for a reaction, but all she can do is stare back blankly.

“I…Riley,” She says helplessly.

“What?” Lucas furrows his eyebrows, confused. “I don’t…Riley and I broke up almost two years ago. I don’t feel that way about her.”

“So…” Maya can barely form a word. “Why? How?”

“I guess... it’s just the way you are. I don’t have to be someone else around you. You make me feel…right.” Lucas runs a hand through his hair and scratches the back of his neck. “And how…well, you were sort of unexpected.”

She can’t really process anything right now, but she decides, rashly, both unconsciously and consciously, to throw caution to the wind. “I love you, too.”

“Really?” His face breaks into a smile, modest and kind, the one she loves to cause.

“Really.” She follows him with a grin of her own, because she’s going to let herself have this. This one thing that’s hers, that she keeps safe in her chest, sheltered by her small palms, and she’s going to try to not let it break. (For both of them).

Maya settles back in her school routine surprisingly easily, going to classes (although she sleeps in for a few) and writing essays and getting frustrated with her roommate. She sticks the glow-in-the-dark stars on her white ceiling, and when she goes to bed she pretends like she’s eight again, and that her mom and dad just tucked her in and she’d go to sleep smiling, warm under her covers. But now, she remembers, she has glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling and when she’s visiting home she wakes up to bacon in the morning.

She doesn’t hear from Lucas for about a week after winter break, and she hasn’t exactly made the effort to reach out to him herself. She’s beginning to worry that they’ll have a repeat of the last year and a half, until she gets a text message from him. It’s a picture of him and some guy with bad stubble, each of them holding a Budweiser in the air. He’s wearing the cowboy hat. The caption reads: putting your present to good use.

She laughs out loud, startling her roommate next to her, and responds: how dare you wear my present unironically. Then, she sends him a picture of her stars, a dull yellow color now as the sun floods her walls in the daytime.

They carry on texting each other for weeks, sending each other dumb pictures and stupid stories that remind them of each other. They’ll have certain silent periods, but they always pick up again, so much so that Farkle brings it up with her over FaceTime.

“You and Lucas are talking a lot,” He starts, cautious.

“I swear to God, if one more person tries to talk to me about my complicated relationship with him, I’m gonna break my computer.” It’s really getting on her nerves.

“Well, that would really only affect you,” Farkle shrugs, unfazed. “He just mentioned that you two are talking, and I guess I just wanted to check in.”

“Thank you, Farkle,” Maya sighs. “But we’re just friends. Honestly.” And she is truly being serious now, because she can’t ever imagine them together again in any other capacity. It’s too late for that now. They have too much baggage and too much history and too much, she thinks, to have that. Or, rather, she has too much.

“If you say so,” He concedes. “But I still think you should be careful, you know? About what you’re getting into here.”

She furrows her eyebrows at the camera. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean that you should be careful,” He repeats. Farkle has always been pragmatic, logical. Maya can tell he chooses his words now with the utmost consideration, because he speaks slowly, tentatively. “You never know who might get hurt.”

They’ve only been broken up for a few months now - two to be exact - and when Maya thinks about it it’s not that long, but it feels like forever. She’s immersed herself in everything – vodka and weed and pretty brunettes – and tries to forget. If anyone asks her she says she’s fine, but she just saw a picture of him and Farkle on Instagram, and he looks good. He looks happy, and whole, and everything she wants for him. But she remembers that he used to look happy and whole with her. And if Maya is being quite honest with herself, kissing pretty brunettes in hazy fog only reminds her of chapped lips under streetlights in February, and an arm around her waist at the movies, and a kiss on the cheek before class.

She thinks about this ten times over as she stares at the contact number on her phone. It glares at her, blinks and blares ten numbers and five letters. She changed his name from ‘huckleberry’ to ‘Lucas’ a week after they broke up. It’s more professional this way, less emotional. And she’s over him, she’s over him, she’s over him, she tells herself, and she wants so badly to prove it. But every time her thumb hovers over the call button she snaps it away after a few seconds like it’s been burned. After multiple unsuccessful attempts to gather her courage and press it, she throws her phone at the edge of her bed and collapses. She never calls him, but she never deletes his number either.

It’s very easy for a while; everything falls into place around Maya as spring blooms warm from beneath the frozen earth. Zay visits her at Syracuse for a weekend, and they go to a record store and he brings her an old Joy Division t-shirt and they grab coffee on a Saturday. They chat about daily affairs for a while and she shows him a photo Lucas sent her that she thinks he’d like, which is when he brings it up.

“I just think that is so fantastic,” Zay says, overly merry.

“What is?” She’s wary, because she has a guess about what he means. Why do all of her friends have to ask her about this?

“You two,” he says, taking a sip from his coffee. “I mean, you dated for a year and a half, you were undoubtedly the best thing to ever happen to Lucas, but then you break up because of life and the fact that you’re a coward, and you don’t talk for another year and a half, because like I said, you’re a coward–”

“–Are you serious?”

“But now, you’re thick as thieves! Peas in a pod.” Zay winks at her.

“We’re just friends,” Maya warns.

“Did I imply that you were something more?” He acts innocent, but she knows him too well.

“Zay, you know damn well it’s what you’re thinking, and if you so much as say the words out loud, I will break you,” She pokes him in the chest, her signature threat.

“You don’t scare me, sugar,” he says, flicking her finger off his shirt. He pauses before continuing. “I’m not surprised at this turn of events, though, because Lucas never could help himself around you.”

She stares at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not that dumb,” he deadpans.

“Zay, we’re just friends,” she repeats. “How many times do I have to say that before people start believing me?”

“Because,” he starts, serious now. “You can’t be ‘just friends’ with your ex-boyfriend who never got over you.”

Fuck. Maya’s heart moves at light speed, as she retraces through new memories to find some sort of explanation for what Zay has just said.

“Wait –” She laughs, because she honestly has no idea how to react to this in any other way. It has to be a joke. “Lucas isn’t over me? But he…he’s not over me?”

“Shit, I should not have said that, should I?” But Zay honestly doesn’t sound that regretful.

“He…he told me he was over me,” she looks at her coffee, then back at Zay, and then around the room, like she’s trying to find some evidence on the yellow, paint-chipped walls.

“Maya. He bought you fuckin' glow-in-the-dark stars,” Zay says, voice flat and unbelieving. When he sees the look on her face, though, he sighs. “He thought he was. But then winter break came and you started talkin’ again. It just hit him full force, I think.”

“So…what does this mean?” Maya is staring at her coffee again, but she chances a glance at Zay, whose gaze is so fixed upon her, like he’s trying to make her get it, to make her understand. She just can’t quite get the message. “What do I do?”

“It means whatever you want it to mean. And you do whatever you want to do.” Zay takes another gulp of his coffee, and then leans forward, hands clasped together on the table, imploring her with every part of him. “But you’ve got to stop thinkin’ that you’re just friends. And you’ve got to stop this dumbass mentality that you don’t deserve anythin’ more. Because, frankly, it’s bullshit. And once you’ve gotten that sorted out, well, then you can decide what you want to do. But for the love of God, just do it and try to minimize the damage because I have been dealin’ with this for six and a half fuckin’ years.”

Maya doesn’t respond to Lucas’s texts or calls for a week. At first he continues to prod her, sending her frantic messages and leaving anxious voicemails of him questioning her safety. But eventually, he stops trying. He stops texting and calling and asking Riley if she’s okay (because of course she heard about that), and Maya tells herself it’s good, better this way, and that maybe he didn’t care that much if it only took a few days for him to give up.

Farkle tells her he knew someone would get hurt, Zay isn’t surprised at her reaction and just nods solemnly, and Riley gives her a virtual hug through FaceTime in an attempt to comfort her. But Maya doesn’t want comfort. She wants to forget. To forget Lucas and almost kisses and cowboy hats and glow-in-the-dark stars. So one night she stands on her bed and peels each one off her ceiling one-by-one. She puts on makeup and wears high heels and jeans and a low-cut shirt, and goes to a party with her roommate for the first time since before winter break. She has five shots in two hours, and multiple boys talk to her, leaning over and leering, crooked smiles etched onto their lips that are so much more threatening than Lucas’s. She leaves them, stumbling, and gets another drink with her roommate. She hooks up with this girl named Violet who actually smells like lavender, and when they kiss Maya aches, but if she keeps pushing, moving, she thinks maybe the pain will dull. When her roommate carries her home, she throws up behind their dorm, head and stomach reeling, and she whispers hotly into her roommates’ ear: I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

Her roommate whispers I know back and changes her into pajama shorts and a shirt, getting her water and washing out her mouth before tucking her into her bed. There’s a message on her phone from 12:36am, and it’s almost three now. The name is blurry but she manages to find the play button, and when she puts it to her ear she almost throws up again at the sound of the voice.

“Hey, Maya. I don’t know if I did something or said something or what’s wrong with you, because no one will tell me anything, but…” He sounds frustrated. “But I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you probably won’t respond to this, or maybe even listen to it, but I just…I miss you, Maya. I really miss you. I mean, I can’t not talk to you for a year and a half, and then talk to you all the time for months, and suddenly stop all over again. I kind of need to talk to you. So, if you ever want to let me know what’s up, or not, you can just send me something stupid and I will definitely reply. I won’t even ask questions. Um…bye, I guess. I really hope you’re okay.”

Maya sobers a bit from the message, and although the room is still spinning around her, she feels serious again, heavy. She turns her phone off, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor, and lies back down on her bed. When she falls asleep, she dreams of old summers and a boy she doesn’t deserve.

Maya’s hangover is surprisingly mild the next morning, even though most of the previous night is either somewhere forgotten or incredibly muddled. She remembers boys and girls and bad mixed drinks and a message. From Lucas. She shoots up in bed, her head immediately aching from the sudden movement, and scrambles to find her phone. She never deleted the message, so it’s still there, sitting in her voicemails, and she doesn’t have to play it again because it’s the one thing she remembers completely clearly.

She also has a text from Riley at nine a.m., that says are you okay?? pls be alive, and one from her mom asking about her plans for spring break. She texts back i’m fine riles. just very hungover and tells her mom she’ll probably come home. Her roommate very kindly left her a glass of water and Advil, and after she takes it she goes back to sleep, trying to fully forget everything in the past twenty-four hours.

“I’m tired.”

“That’s because you barely slept last night,” Lucas says, smoothing the hair on the top of Maya’s head.

Maya hums in response, curling closer into his neck. She turns her head up to kiss his jaw, soft. Her sigh afterwards ignites a sad restlessness in the air, and he asks: “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just,” she falters, sighs again.

He turns his head slightly to look at her. Her eyes are closed, and a stray strand of hair lies across her cheek, her lips the color of pink hyacinths.

“Don’t you ever feel tired of being yourself?” Maya says, so quiet he might not hear her if her lips weren’t so close to his ear. She thinks he furrows his brows in reaction to her words, but she doesn’t want to risk looking up at him to see. She can feel a brush spread across her cheeks.

“Sometimes,” Lucas agrees. “But not when I’m with you.”

“Really?” Maya smiles a little against his shoulder.

“Well, yeah,” He affirms. “You make me feel good to be myself. Like I don’t have to try to be something else around you. That’s really cheesy, isn’t it?”

“Very,” she laughs and pushes off the bed with her hands, and straddles him, leaning down to peck him on the lips.

“Aren’t you going to pretend to gag or something?” Lucas says, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Not this time,” and she leans back down to kiss him again, languidly, like slow-motion. Her hair makes a canopy around their heads. After a minute she leans back. “You know, that’s what Zay said to me, like, a year a go.”

“What? He told you he doesn’t have to pretend around you?” Lucas makes a face.

“No, he said you don’t have to pretend around me. He said that’s why I’m good for you.”

“Huh,” Lucas says. “He said this a year ago?”

“Yes, when I was madly in love with you and it was tragically unrequited,” Maya says dramatically.

“It was definitely requited,” He laughs. His palms move up to rest on her hips, his face turning solemn and cautious. “So…why are you tired of being yourself?”

Maya frowns, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I don’t feel it that often, I just…am kind of sick of being Maya sometimes, you know? It’s just teen angst, I guess.”

Lucas nods, unconvinced, and says, “I’m never tired of you.”

Maya mimes vomiting.

“Oh, there it is,” he laughs, and she grins, kissing him again, one hand resting on his chest and his cupping the back of her neck. She keeps smiling against his lips, and she wants to whisper I’m not tired of myself around you, either, but keeps quiet, sinking into the kiss.

Three days later, Lucas shows up at her dorm. He looks like a mess, dark bags shadowing his eyes and anxious hands stuffed in his jean pockets. His hair is spiked up in several directions but he still manages to look good despite his demeanor.

“What are you doing here, Lucas?” Maya stares at him, but when he doesn’t respond she has to avert his gaze, and instead focuses intently on the door behind him.

After a while, he says, “Can I come in?”.

“No!” She replies, and he flinches a little, but doesn’t look all that surprised at her reaction. “You can’t just show up at my door and expect me to let you in, Lucas.” She puts a hand on her hip and locks eyes with him again, trying to look as intimidating as she can. He always listens to her.

Lucas sighs, rubs a hand across his face. “Look, Maya. You stopped talking to me out of nowhere for weeks, you won’t answer any of my texts or phone calls, and Riley, Farkle, and Zay won’t tell me anything, and I’m in New York for spring break anyway, and I think I deserve an explanation.”

They stare at each other for a minute, neither backing down, until he raises his eyebrows at her.

Maya rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She steps away from the doorway and he walks through into her room. She shuts the door and turns around, folding her arms across her chest and he mirrors the movement.

They’re both quiet for a bit, because he’s waiting and she’s too stubborn to say anything, so they stare at each other, standing on opposite sides of the room.

“Well?” Lucas finally breaks the silence. “Why did you stop talking to me?”

“I didn’t realize I had to talk to you at all times, Lucas.”

“You don’t, but you did, and then you went all cold turkey on me,” he runs an agitated hand through his hair. “I mean, I had no idea what was going on! It was like freshman year all over again.”

Maya scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you didn’t talk to me freshman year either.”

“Maybe, but I thought about it all the time. I asked Riley about you all the time and I missed you all the time.” He’s stepped closer to her now, and she wants to move back but there’s no space between her and the door.

“You think I didn’t miss you? Or think about calling you? It was only one of the hardest years of my life because you weren’t in it!”

“So then why aren’t you talking to me now?!” Lucas yells. “We agreed we’d be friends, that we would try to be close again. So what the hell happened?”

“Because stupid Zay said you’re still in love with me!” Maya blurts.

The expression on Lucas’s face is one of pure shock, jaw dropped and eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. Maya is suddenly struck with the need to fix this situation, so she scrambles for words.. “I mean, I know it’s not true, cause that’s crazy, right? It’s been, like, two years, and it makes no sense, but I just kind of freaked out a bit. But it’s not true. Right?”

Lucas had been staring at her, dumbfounded, but when she asks for confirmation, he closes his mouth, shifting his weight to his other foot. “Um…”

“Lucas?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course it’s not true,” He nods rapidly, swallowing as Maya’s shoulders visibly relax with relief. “I’m gonna go, then.”

Maya nods, opening the door for him, and she watches as he steps through the threshold. Before he turns to leave he lifts his arm up as if to hug her, but drops it just as quickly, and she wants to pull him back, sink into his chest like she used to, but she lets him turn away.

At 1:58am she gets a text from Lucas Friar, the words blaring at her in a blinding white and blue on her screen, that reads: I lied. It’s true. I’m sorry.

She doesn’t respond.

"So, what do we do?" Lucas has paused the movie, and the two of them face each other on the couch, expressions solemn and tired.

“Our schools are in completely different places," Maya says quietly. "There's really only one thing to do." 

“That's not true, Maya,” Lucas responds slowly.

“It is though. We have two choices: we can either date long-distance or break up,” she says, and she’s trying to stay collected as he looks at her, frowning. “And long-distance is hard, and eventually, we'll just grow apart and stop talking. And I don’t want to hold you back and keep you tied down while you’re in Texas and I’m in New York. You deserve to experience college fully without worrying about me.”

“Maya–”

“–And if we break up,” she interrupts. “Then we’ll have to move on, and we’re going to stop loving each other and we’ll be free to live our own lives.” She can’t believe she’s saying this, but she knows it’s for the best. They knew this was coming, and long-distance relationships never last. Relationships, for Maya, never last.

“Be free?” Lucas says, incredulous.

“You know what I mean. We talked about this, Lucas. We knew this was probably going to happen. I can’t be the person who holds you back.”

“I know we talked about it,” he says. “But you could never be that person, Maya.”

Her eyes flit to the television screen in an effort to avoid his gaze. "It's for the best. We were never really going to do long-distance, anyway. We need to grow separately, and college is the place to do that, right?" 

"Yeah, I guess," Lucas rubs a hand over his face. "I just hate that this is how it ends for us."

"I know."

Lucas sighs. “Look, I just want to watch this movie and spend time with my girlfriend, considering the countdown to our break up, and I’d rather not talk about that anymore. So can we just watch Jimmy Page play, please?”

Maya nods, turning back to the TV. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Lucas kisses her cheek and tugs her to his chest. “And for the record,” He starts quietly. “I could never stop loving you.”

Lucas doesn’t text her again, and Maya finishes her sophomore year with ease, pretending like those few months never happened. It’s easier that way, and somehow, none of her friends bother her about it again. She comes home and spends time with her mom and Shawn and watches The Office with them. She talks to Riley in the bay window, and she gets dinner with Farkle, and goes to concerts with Zay. She never mentions Lucas and neither do they. It’s like an unspoken agreement, an acknowledgement that it’s over, and a reminder of that could break her. Maya appreciates it, but it’s a lot lonelier than a year ago, when they would casually slip his name into conversation and for a glorious second, she would miss him a little bit less.

Now she’s with Riley at a restaurant in St. Marks, and they ordered Margaritas with their fake IDs. Maya is only a little tipsy, but she feels good and light. She takes a massive bite of her taco just as Riley says, “Lucas is coming home tomorrow.”

Maya tries to swallow and look disinterested at the same time, but Riley is merely looking at her, her gaze calm and calculated, but not earnest or concerned. Maya sets down the taco on her plate. “Aren’t you supposed to give me a whole speech about how I’m throwing away a huge opportunity and I need to hope for more things and put myself out there and shit?”

Riley shrugs, wiping her hands on her napkin. “Maybe. But I’m not going to.” At Maya’s raised eyebrows, Riley narrows her eyes and says, “Come on, Maya. No matter what anyone says you will never believe us. I know you’re making a big mistake, and I know you know, too. But I think I’m just gonna let it happen and you can deal with it when you inevitably have to.”

“Thanks, you’re a fantastic best friend,” Maya deadpans.

Riley laughs. “I am, actually.”

“Of course you are, Peaches. The best I could ever have.”

Maya kisses him softly at the airport. It’s fleeting, like a goodbye, because anything longer is an admittance that it’s their last. Technically, they broke up a month ago, but she came with him anyway.

She doesn’t see him when he arrives in New York. Everyone is at dinner with him, but she stayed home. Her mom makes lemonade and they watch What’s Up, Doc? with Shawn. Maya doesn’t check her phone because she knows she’ll see reunion photos of him everywhere, and the thought of it makes her want to cry.

He smiles, and wipes a tear from her cheek with his thumb, brushes his lips against her forehead. She doesn’t want to stop holding him or feeling him because when she does, it’s over.

Maya really hates the greenish hue of her stars in the light, especially in a jumbled pile in a cardboard box. They look bland and dull, so she turns off the lights in her room, stares at the dense fluorescent glow like a beacon on her bed, and tries to hold back tears. Lucas has been in New York for a week. She closes the box, grabs her MetroCard, and heads to the subway.

“Remember to tell all your future girlfriends about me,” she says to him, and the thought of it makes her ache. “I want them to feel crippling despair because they’ll never live up to me.”

He laughs, a symphony she’s memorized by now, and nods. “Whatever you want.”

It’s almost eight p.m. when she gets to the park, and it’s still light outside, the sky a deepening yellow on the city’s horizon. She wants to draw it: the end of the day, a low gold sun and a boy on a bench, nodding his head to his music.

She clutches their entwined hands to her heart, clinging to every last second as they stand by security, the space between them so infinitesimal, but widening with every passing minute. He doesn’t move, but just lets her hold their hands together.

“I love you, Maya,” he whispers. “You’re everything to me.”

She stops right in front of him, and he takes the headphones out of his ears, staring up at her in surprise.

“Zeppelin?” She asks, gesturing to the headphones.

“White Stripes,” he replies, standing. He looms over her, and she didn’t realize she was so close to him, but she forces herself to stand her ground.

“Right,” she says, more to herself than anything, and she looks behind his shoulder to avoid eye contact.

“Maya, wha–”

“–I’m in love with you,” she says, and moves her eyes to his again. He’s shocked to say the least, but she ignores it, taking a deep breath and continuing. “Have been for a while actually. And I’m…I’m finally done running, Lucas. From you, from everything.”

A smile spreads across his face, gentle and genuine, and she mimics it. When he leans down, her breath catches in her throat, because it’s been two damn years and she never thought she’d see him like this again.

Their last kiss is nothing like the first: it’s practiced, not slow or fast but just the right speed, their lips moving together in a perfected rhythm. It starts too late and ends too quickly, and Maya rests her forehead against Lucas’s. She presses her lips to his again so they’re touching, but not kissing, and whispers so quietly she can barely hear it herself: goodbye.

Maya’s hand is threaded through Lucas’s hair and his clutches her back, tugging her close to him. Their lips move calmly but quickly together, as if they’re losing time but aren’t too worried about it, and Maya feels as if she’s dancing between stars.

They’ve always been a storm. Like thunder and lightning: always one step ahead or behind the other, never meeting, always missing each other. But she thinks, just this once, this kiss breaks nature’s laws.

She watches him go through security, and he turns back to her and waves one last time. She returns it with a half-hearted smile, her ribs crumbling around her fragile heart.

They break apart, and the sun has gone down behind the buildings now, and Lucas grins at her, breathless.

“So, you love me, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

The lights are dimmed just enough in her room so the stars on her ceiling produce their glow, and Lucas and Maya stare at the clusters above them, the room quiet except for the sound of their breathing. He points up at each star and tries to make constellations, thinking he’s cute because they’re not really stargazing. She’s barely listening, but she likes the way he smooths her hair on her head with one hand, and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear seems like the most tangible thing she’s ever felt. She’d run through galaxies for him, she knows that now (or maybe she’s always known, since he kissed her under moonlight and evergreens, and turned her world upright).