A loud pounding on the door woke Maya from her chocolate-induced stupor. She groaned. The pounding stopped for a second, then continued.
"Maya!" came a loud male voice from the opposite side of the door.
She didn't respond, instead pulling her pillow over her head and waiting for the noise to stop. Her head hurt and she could feel that the indentation of her pillow had left a pink mark on her cheek.
Maya lived in a studio apartment in an old brick building. Her front door faced the rickety steps of a third-floor walk-up. It took energy and dedication for anyone to make the trek. Unfortunately, her bed was only 20 feet from the front door.
When the pounding didn't stop, Maya groaned loudly again.
"Maya! Are you okay?" Maya knew the voice belonged to none other than Lucas Friar, her well-meaning but irritating friend from high school. Well, middle school. Technically. She did not want to see him, or anyone else.
The loud banging continued.
"Go away!" Maya yelled, rolling over and throwing her pillow at the wall. Her hair was in a ratty bun that had slid off the top of her head during her nap. She sat up slowly, rubbing the ball of her hand over her eye. Then she brushed potato chips off of her flannel pajama top and groaned loudly for effect as the banging continued. He was definitely using the side of his fist.
"Lucas, shut up!" she yelled. "I'm coming! For the love of God!" She swore under her breath when she almost knocked over a pile of small paint cans as she stumbled toward the door. Finally, after sidestepping a bag of canvases, a stack of sketchbooks, and a bag of Doritos, she swung the door open and looked up at the intruder with a dead expression. A gust of cold air blew into the apartment.
She had to look up to meet his eyes. Immediately a ray of sunlight struck her in the face and she squinted angrily, throwing her hand up to block it.
Lucas was standing on her welcome mat in a brown leather jacket and a black wool hat with his arms crossed. His jaw was set and there was an angry look in his eyes that she had only seen on a few select occasions, including the time he had almost beaten up a kid that was picking on Farkle. His size would have been intimidating if she hadn't known him so well.
"What?" she asked flatly.
"Maya, Riley just told me you haven't been to class in days! What is going on?" Lucas' voice had gotten lower over the years, but his indignant voice still carried a hint of his middle-school tone.
Maya rolled her eyes. "I don't have the time or energy for this, Yeehaw. Take your white knight shtick somewhere else." She started to close the door, but Lucas quickly reached forward and stopped it. She tried using both hands. He planted his feet. She tried heaving her entire body weight against it, but to no avail. Finally she gave up. "Why are you even here?" she asked.
Lucas' eyes roamed over her sloppy bun, puffy eyes, flannel pajama top, unshaved legs, and paint-splattered feet. It looked like he was clenching his jaw. "Because I want to know what the hell is going on with you."
"I've given up on art, that's all. Have a nice day!" Maya moved to close the door again and he caught it, scowling.
"That's not funny, Maya." The apartment was getting colder. She didn't protest when he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Well, apparently my portfolio sucked, and I probably won't get accepted into the major, so what's the point?" Maya crossed her arms as Lucas tapped frost from his boots.
Lucas' head shot up, and his eyebrows came together in concern. "What?"
"I don't want your pity, Hopalong. I just want to suffer in peace for a few more days before I drop out."
The pitiful look turned hard. "You're not dropping out."
"Well, that's not really your call." Maya was studying the floor.
"You're not dropping out," Lucas said in his Low Voice. Maya looked up and met his eyes. They were steely. His jaw was set. She recognized the look.
"I know you're mad, but there's nobody to punch in this scenario, so maybe cool it," Maya said, putting a hand on his arm. His eyes jerked toward the gesture and with effort, he took a deep breath.
"Tell me what happened," he said.
Maya told him everything. The anxiety over her portfolio, the late nights of coffee and procrastination, feeling like the joy had been sucked out of her art when it used to feel like magic. The terrible grade on her mid-semester portfolio.
She was used to art coming easily to her. When she was inspired, she sometimes painted all night. Sometimes skipped class to keep painting. She pulled B's and C's in her general classes with the help of friends and tutors, but art was her A subject.
Talking about it was not easy for her. She sat on her bed next to Lucas and spoke mostly to the floor in a dull voice, trying to sound bored about it.
"And if I can't do art, I don't want to be in college," she concluded, looking at Lucas with her arms crossed. She said it like a challenge.
Lucas had been watching her intently, not saying much. He didn't want to interrupt her because if he did she might stop talking and refuse to start again. He was quiet for a few seconds after she finished, thinking.
Eventually, he said, "I don't want to move back to Texas."
Maya looked at him like he was crazy. "Okay…"
"For eight years I told myself I wanted to become a vet and then move back to Texas and treat horses," he said. "But that's not what I want anymore. I don't know if that's what I've wanted for… a while now. I love New York." He took a breath. "I want to be a doctor."
"Like, a human doctor?"
He grinned and his eyes squinted at the edges. For a second he looked like the boy she'd met at John Quincy Adams. "Yeah, a human doctor."
Maya laughed despite herself.
"I haven't told anyone."
"Why?"
"I guess I was afraid that people would be disappointed in me. Or think I was giving up a part of myself."
"Hold up," Maya said, eyes narrowing. "Are you saying you're fine with me giving up art? I should just switch majors and I'll be hunky-dory like you?"
"No," Lucas said quickly. "I'm saying that we all go through moments of doubt when we're deciding what we want out of life."
"Doubt and failure aren't the same thing," Maya said.
"They could be. I mean, why is the magic gone for you?"
"Because I'm being graded on something that used to be my therapy. It used to be just for me. Now everyone else's opinion matters."
"You're developing skills that you can use later once you graduate and start filling galleries with your work," Lucas said. "Right? You're not going to get it perfect every time. That doesn't mean you're not an artist."
Maya pursed her lips. "I hate being told what to do."
Lucas smirked. "Trust me, I know."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Lucas said. "Short Stack."
Maya raised her eyebrows, grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.
"Tell me you don't feel better," Lucas said.
Maya rolled her eyes. "It's possible I might feel a little better," she said, holding her thumb and index finger an inch apart for effect. "But don't think you just magically solved all my problems."