Chapter One

28 December, 2016.

Maya's POV.

The arrogance of some people at train stations was astonishing. With the smelly waiting areas, rude attendants, and subpar food options, the immaturity some adults displayed in the worst of places was pure cruelty. Because of Winter Storm Joaquin up in Maine, I guess Riley's train was severely delayed, so I've been stuck in this hellhole for 12 hours and counting. I looked down at my watch, then back up at the television tracking the storm heading south, and groaned. I couldn't stand the feeling of sitting around motionless for more than three hours, nevermind twelve, so I got up and took a walk. Dodging people left and right and trying to not to step on the wads of gum at the same time was certainly a challenge I was not suited for considering I was wearing heels. I sighed, sitting back down and resting my tiresome feet. I really wished I could sympathize with Riley when she used to speak of the horrid weather New England got in the winter, but I just couldn't. The weather here in Miami was so warm and relaxing year round, it was hard not to obliviously brag to her. She would always snap at me when I complained of my tedious life problems, claiming her's was much more difficult considering the 4 feet of snow she had to deal with every time she stepped foot outside. Sure she was annoying, but that's what I loved about her. And that's what made her return to Miami so special.

Riley's been scouting for her dream college since the age of eight. Eight. At eight, I didn't even know what college was. Hell, I probably didn't even know the direction my life was heading considering I still had 12+ years of schooling ahead of me.

At eight, Riley and I would talk about our dream double wedding all day; how she would marry the intelligent brunette with charming eyes and I would go for the dare-devil blonde with a sympathetic smile.

At nine, Riley and I decided to raise a little money to buy one of those fancy bicycles with two seats. Outside Topanga's summer condo, Riley and I would sell our "fresh lemonade, made from real lemons!" while Topanga stayed quickly inside mixing up the power and water for us to scam our customers with.

At ten, after finally raising enough money for that bicycle, I decided to take it for our first spin one night at the park. Without getting into much detail, let's just say Riley and I ended up in a puddle of muddy water lying next to our newly broken bicycle. It was a good run.

At eleven, Riley Matthews moved to Maine. And since that day, disregarding the occasional visits here and there on spring break, that was the last day I saw her.

Seven years later, I sit idle in a mediocre train station, awaiting the arrival of my best friend once again.

Restlessly, I checked my phone for any news from Riley or my boyfriend Josh, who's now been texting me constantly. Every now and then, he would check in on me, asking me the most cliche things, like Any better? or How's things? and it was the same response every time.

It's cool, it's all good, it's fine.

Kinda annoying when your own mother has to constantly remind your own boyfriend to do boyfriend-ly things, like checking in on your girlfriend and making sure she's okay and all. The assertiveness he has in trying to make himself responsible and mature with me is nice, but it's very clearly all a show to impress my mother, and it's embarrassing, to be frank. With this recent attitude he's putting on, it'll appear to Riley like I have my life together. At least a little.

A train pulled in, its engines roaring as it closed to a stop and smoke now invading the already intoxicated station. I jumped to my heels in excitement, as the conductor opened

the doors to each of the cars and watched as people from all directions piled out.

My eyes scanned everywhere for Riley, until finally I saw her in the very back of the train cars, struggling to pull three suitcases behind her and hold a duffle bag on her shoulder.

Shoving through the train station scum of the Earth, I approached her, and we hugged, for a good five minutes at least. Her warmth radiated as she squeezed the living daylights out of me, and I remembered once again why I called her my best friend in the first place.

5 January, 2016.

"The Miami International School of Art and Design isn't that big of a deal. I should just move back to Maine and go to art school with all the hillbillies and moose farmers."

Riley, in severe denial that today was her first day back in the Miami school system, relentlessly insisted upon not following her dream of going to MIUAD since she was like, eight, and going back to the arctic to be an ice-fisher once again. Riley moved to Miami now because her family lost their farm in Maine, and it's been a lifelong dream of Riley's to attend MIAUD for poetry. Guess the economy is pretty competitive up there selling frozen vegetables and grass.
"You're being ridiculous. There's like, 5,000 kids at Palm West. Nobody will even notice you're new."

Skip ahead five hours, and you have "Miss Matthews", a.k.a, the whitest girl at Palm West, trying to introduce herself in Spanish to our class of 30 students, per requests of Señora Rivera.

"Go ahead, give it a shot. You've got nothing to lose here, sweetie" Señora Rivera insisted.

While Riley looked like a fish out of water standing in front of the class, the seven hispanic kids in the back sat with their arms crossed, probably whispering some incomprehensible Spanish profanity.

"Uh, me, me gusta Riley Matthews."

Considering Riley has taken maybe one year of languages tops due to the lack of hispanics in St. Agatha, Maine, you'd think the judgemental Latinos would cut the poor white girl a break. Instead, the classroom erupted into laughter, some kids hollering "Ay, yo también!" all with the exception of my friend and I, Lucas.

"Alright, quiet down kids. Abran sus libros en la página 47, por favor"

9 January, 2016.

Lucas POV.

Riley is something new. She's bright, she's energetic, she's bubbly, and she's optimistic.

But she's nothing compared to Maya Hart.

Maya has always been a friend to me when nobody else was. When Riley was out of the picture, Maya had girls swarming from left and right to be her next partner in crime. But she still chose me.

She chose the kid in the back of the class who would get shoved into his cubby on a daily basis. She chose the kid who sat at lunch by himself and would sometimes even call his mother faking an illness in order to get out of recess. She chose me because nobody else did, and that's why Maya Hart is beautiful.

When Maya felt alone, I felt alone with her. When she was happy, I was happy with her. It's always been that way up until just recently. And I'm not saying Riley Matthews is a threat, but it's just new.

I still sit at lunch across from Maya, watching as she graces the most ordinary movements with delicacy and allure. Except, unlike before, Riley now sits beside her.

I still sit next to Maya in Chemistry class, listening as she jokes of how she'll accidentally combine hydrogen sulfide and nitric acid so we can get an "early release". Except, unlike before, Riley sits behind her and Maya's back is turned the whole class, gossiping away rather than paying attention.

"You're a smart girl Maya, don't you think you're wasting your potential?" I would say, nudging her in the shoulder as Mrs. Consolas would continue her lecture without a pause.

She could reply with a chuckle, "What potential?"

The most saddening thing about Maya is she doesn't understand how beautiful or smart she is. She's one of the most intelligent people in our AP Chemistry class. The fact she even knew what hydrogen sulfide and nitric acid were, nevermind that together they release a toxic gas that's unsafe for humans to inhale, says a lot about her, yet she never believes in herself.

When she could complain to me about how her boyfriend—mind you, who is 5 years older than her—was making some "wrong" choices in his life, I would tell her she deserves better. But she never believed me.

Today at lunch I sat with Zay Babineaux, a friend of mine from football, listening as he bragged of his weekend with Molly Lang. Interrupting our conversation, however, was none other than Maya Hart, speed walking to the table as if she had something urgent to say.

"I have something important to say."

Zay raised his eyebrow at the blonde, who now sat across from him, with her eyes widened and his fists clenched.

"What's up?" I asked casually.

"I'm not going to lie to you, but I'm not going to be totally honest either. So let's just say that a certain brunette likes a certain jock of a football player."

After 30 seconds of Zay and I staring at Maya completely blank, she groaned.

"A blonde football player?" Maya said, tapping her fingers anxiously on the table.

Zay looked at me, and I looked at him, still confused.

"Riley thinks you're cute. God, could you two take a hint for once?" she snapped.

And suddenly everything stopped. Zay was no longer beside me, nor Maya across from me, and all I could see was the burning image of Riley Matthews trying to make a move on me in my head. Not that she wasn't cute or anything, but I've kind of had this lifelong plan to make Maya my first girlfriend, not her best friend.

"And Holly Bradshaw's 18th birthday party is tonight, and you kind of still don't have a date, nor does Riley, so I figured you two could go together. Pick her up at 8:30?"

"Maya, you can't just set me up with some girl I barely know!" I scolded, my face developing a cold sweat and my heart pounding through my chest.

Maya raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, looking offended.

"Riley isn't just some girl, and since you've had a solid record of 0 girlfriends in your high school history, I'd reconsider," she rolled her eyes and stood up, finishing her case with, "338 South Street. Be there at 8:30."