Riley walked through the open doorway of the art room, a Styrofoam take out container in her hands and a dejected look on her face. Earlier there had been an art showing, but hours had passed; all the attendees, and even the art teacher, had long since left. Only three other people remained inside John Quincy Adams Middle School, Riley's parents and her best friend since early childhood, Maya Hart. They had stayed while Riley sprinted to the Nighthawk Diner in a desperate attempt to make Maya's mother comprehend the gravity of not attending, of letting her daughter down once again. She had tried her best, yet Riley had come back alone.
She just didn't understand. How could Maya's mother, a woman who claimed to love her daughter, behave so callously? Maya's father was gone, and her mother might as well have abandoned her too. On the other hand, Riley's parents were always there, supporting her every step of the way in her slow march toward adulthood and independence. That, Riley thought, is what parents are supposed to be. She gazed past the adults, locking her eyes firmly on Maya's painting. It was then she fully understood why the depicted diner was empty except for one solitary waitress who was only half-there, placed far away and hanging off the edge of the canvas, extant but vanished.
Riley ambled toward her parents, Cory and Topanga Matthews, and they turned to see Maya's mother not standing behind them. The Matthews considered Maya to be a part of their family, and they knew she was wounded, even if she stubbornly refused to admit it. Riley broke the silent, somber mood by speaking, "Thank you for staying with Maya, but could we have a few minutes?" Cory slowly nodded, and he and his wife walked out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.
"I couldn't get her to come," Riley admitted, her voice filled with disappointment. She put the container down on a nearby desk. "You were right. I expect too much of people. I expect them to do the right thing, but —"
"No, you were right," Maya interrupted, her voice soft but certain. "I showed my work. People liked it. It made me feel like I could be something someday, with or without my mother."
Riley smiled. "You will be. You are now."
"Thank you, Riley." Maya leaned toward her best friend and wrapped her arms around her. The comfort of her friend had always felt wonderful, and she'd hugged Riley what seemed like a million times before. They'd held hands; they'd slept in the same bed during sleepovers. Closeness was nothing new, but something was different. Her heart was beating faster and faster, and she felt a fluttery warmth growing in the pit of her stomach. Whatever was happening, Maya thought, it felt equal parts beautiful and terrifying. Maya broke the embrace. "Thank you," she repeated and gently sighed.
Riley walked over to the desk and popped open the container. "Do you want half a tuna melt?" she asked as she turned back around.
"You know why she gave this to you?" Maya replied. "She knows it's my favorite thing there. She knew that you'd share with me."
"I'd be happy to give you the whole thing," Riley said, concern in her voice.
"I know you would." Maya looked again at her painting, this time smiling. "You always do. But I'll be just fine with half."
Her concern alleviated, Riley returned the smile, and the two girls sat down to share their food. Maya didn't understand what happened earlier; it was as though something had chosen that moment to awaken inside her. As she ate, Maya kept sneaking glances at Riley. Initially, it was to prove that everything was normal, but later because she knew the night had effected a change, and she just couldn't help herself. Riley didn't look any different than she had at the start of the day, yet nothing about her was the same. Her hair was more lovely, her brown eyes were deeper, and she seemed to glow like a horde of fireflies on a moonless night. Whatever was happening, Maya was beaming.