A/N: Geez, I've been absent for a while! Sorry for the lack of updates! Life just got super busy. I don't plan on taking this long to update on a regular basis going forward! And again, thank you all for the great feedback!

When I woke up in Maya's guest bedroom the next morning, I was confused. It wasn't my bed, wasn't my room, wasn't my house. It took a minute for the hangover to fade enough that I realized just why I was there and what had happened. I heard water running in the bathroom across the hall. The clock on the nightstand read 8:02. It was Saturday and I wondered why anyone would be up at this time when no one had to work. But if everyone else was up, I decided I may as well be, too. I rolled out of the mattress and pulled the faded blue sheets up over the pillow. The water shut off just as I pulled the bedroom door open and Maya emerged from the bathroom a moment later, her hair wet and a towel wrapped around her torso.

"Morning, Sunshine," she greeted.

"Hey," I forced a smile.

"You good?" Maya started down the hall toward the bedroom. I hung back.

"Yeah," I murmured.

"Hungover?"

"Just a little."

"I'm gonna go wake Lucas up," she told me, twisting the doorknob and opening the door a crack. Bits of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds and into the hall. "His scrambled eggs could cure an alcoholic."

"Thanks," I whispered after their door shut.

I sat at Maya's kitchen table as she scurried back and forth, getting coffee ready. Her socked feet slid over the cold tile with barely a sound. Lucas was in the shower. I traced my fingers back and forth over the scratches in the wood veneer. My head pounded and the sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains was inescapable. Lucas emerged from the bathroom in gray sweats and a navy blue t-shirt. His hair was damp and matted down. He waved a little awkwardly as he approached. I managed a half-smile.

"Hey," he greeted, pulling out a chair and dropping down across from me.

"Hi," I murmured.

"I heard about…y'know," he glanced at Maya as she stuffed a coffee filter into the machine.

"Yeah," I searched the table top until my eyes settled on a Y shaped scratch near my right arm.

"You okay?" Lucas ducked his head, trying to see my face. I didn't pick my head up.

"I will be."

"So what's your plan now?"

I wished people would stop asking me that. "I don't know," I shrugged. "I'll find something."

"If you need anything, we're always here for you," he said.

Maya came to my rescue at that moment. If twins have telepathy, we have some deeper connection. She can read my thoughts. She knew I didn't want to talk about it. So she draped her arms around Lucas's shoulders and kissed the side of his head and told him playfully, "I think what Riley really needs right now is some of your magic, hangover-curing eggs."

"Right," he smiled guiltily as he stood up. I mouthed a silent thank you to my best friend and she grinned almost deviously in response.

Maya dropped down in the seat her husband had vacated, resting an arm on her knee and curling her other foot under her. She slid one steaming mug of coffee toward me and kept the other one close to herself. She fixed it how I like it—more sugar and cream than actual coffee. Hers was almost black. "You going home today?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I guess. I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Honey, you can stay here as long as you like."

"No. I should go back to my apartment."

"I'll drop you back whenever you're ready," Maya answered, sipping slowly from her cup.

We sat silently. I watched Lucas beat eggs in a chipped ceramic bowl. The whisk thump, thump, thumped against the side of it rhythmically. He bent down and rummaged in one of the peeling white cabinets for a pan, then heated it over the front burner of the electric range. The eggs sizzled when they hit the pan and Lucas stirred them.

"I'll keep my ears open for any job openings in the district," Maya told me, bringing my attention back to her. "I know you said you can't be a teacher but there's always other things you could do. Maybe an office job or something."

"Maya…"

"It would only be temporary," she insisted, anticipating my objection. "Until you can get your feet back under you."

Lucas turned around. "I'll talk to some people, too. See if anybody knows of any job openings."

"Thanks, guys." I decided to let the matter drop.

"Breakfast is served," Lucas dropped a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me.

"Toast and bacon?" Maya asked, turning eager eyes toward her husband.

He smirked. "Anything for you."

"That's my Huckleberry."

Maya had not exaggerated Lucas's scrambled egg-making abilities. By the time we finished breakfast, I was feeling a lot better. I excused myself to change and when I emerged, they had already cleared the table. Lucas was rinsing off the plates while Maya dried them with a dish rag. I smiled and started back toward the guest room to wait until they were done.

It was almost one o'clock when I threw my bag in the hatch of Maya's car and we set off.

"Actually," I began as she merged out of her parking spot and into the street, "do you think you could drop me off somewhere else instead?"

"Where?" Maya turned to me.

"My parents place," I requested shyly. "I should probably let them know what happened."

She bit her lip, then nodded. "Yeah. If that's where you want me to take you, then that's where I'll take you."

We were on the Williamsburg Bridge when I turned to her and blurted, "You don't think they'll be upset, do you?"

"Riles, why would your parents be upset?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Just…I mean, I don't think either of them's ever been fired before."

"There was that one time your dad almost got canned over supporting a new teacher…"

"That doesn't count! There was no way he was actually gonna lose his job."

"My point is, he's been where you've been. I'm sure they both have at some point," Maya told me. We exited the bridge onto Delancey Street. "They'll understand, Riles. They've always been there for you and they will always be there for you." I thought I could detect a hint of bitterness in her tone. Maybe I was imagining it.

Maya stopped the car outside the low-rise apartment building where I'd grown up. Where we'd both grown up. It had hardly changed—even after all these years. Same red-brick façade. Same trees lining the sidewalk—a little taller now, and completely bare. Same black RAV-4 parked out front, telling me my dad was home. Same black iron fire escape Maya and I used as our primary means of entry and exit. I could even make out the same gauzy white curtains in the window of my bedroom.

"Want me to come in with you?" Maya asked, throwing the car into park and putting her blinkers on.

"No," I shook my head. I was terrified to tell my parents what happened. I didn't need her there to witness whatever was about to unfold.

"You sure?" She didn't look convinced, eyeing me from the driver's seat with one hand hovering over the button to shut off the engine. If I hesitated for even a second, she would push it and come inside with me.

"I'll be fine," I tried to keep my voice even.

"Call me."

"I will."

"You better," she threatened, jabbing a finger toward me.

"I will," I repeated, tugging the door handle and pushing the door open. I crossed to the back of the car and retrieved my bag. Maya watched as I made my way up the steps and into the narrow lobby of the building. I waved to her but she didn't drive away. I don't know how long she was parked outside.

I've been blessed with a lot of people in my life that I can count on and look up to. Of course there's Maya and Lucas and Farkle. There's my mother, the titan of the Southern District of New York, who taught me that we all have unlimited power and potential. Whether she's arguing in the courtroom or chatting up customers at the bakery, she possesses a gravity about her that I've always admired if not quite understood. People like her. People are inspired by her. Some even fear her. Everyone respects her.

There's Auggie, who at sixteen is probably the smartest guy I know besides Farkle. Much smarter than me and always ready to explain things to me when I don't get them. If ever there were a jack of all trades and a master of all, my brother is it. Music. Science. Life in general. You name it. He's an old soul and I'll never fully know where his genius comes from, but I'm grateful for him.

But my father has always been the most influential person in my life. For better or for worse, but mostly for the better. He's already met the world. Some might say he's even conquered it. He's definitely learned a thing or two along the way. Things he's imparted on me. And like it or not, Cory Matthews was my teacher long before I started going to school and he's still my teacher now. He'll be my teacher for life.

I didn't need the callbox. I have a key. It was the first thing my mother pressed into my hand when I got my own place and moved in. She put that key in my hand, closed my fingers tightly around it, and told me "don't forget to come home once in a while." So every once in a while, I do go home. Maybe not as much as I should. I took the stairs up and made my way down the carpeted hall, passing Ava's old apartment. An elderly woman lived alone there now.

When I finally found myself standing on the welcome mat outside the door of the place I'd grown up, I began to doubt myself. My stomach did a flip-turn. I could hear my heart beating. I dropped the bag on the floor and dug my keys out of my coat pocket. It took me a minute to find the right one, and then even longer to get it into the keyhole, but when I finally got the door open, I was greeted with an empty living room.

The couch was still where it always was, and there was a bigger TV in place of the old one. The lights were off but sunlight poured in from the windows opposite the door.

"Auggie? Is that you?" I heard my mother calling from the bedroom.

I swallowed. "No, Mom. It's me."

"Riley?"

Her footsteps approached rapidly and she materialized from around the corner, studying me like she was trying to figure out if I was really there or not. Then she rushed forward to hug me. "Sweetheart, did we miss your call?"

"No," I reluctantly returned her embrace. "No I-I didn't call actually. I was just…in the area. I hope that's okay…"

"Honey, of course it is! Cory! Cory, Riley's home!" My mom finally released me from her grip and I managed a weak smile as my dad joined her in the living room.

"Welcome home, sweetheart," he greeted softly.

"This is such a nice surprise," my mom said.

"I can't stay for long," I put in quickly. I knew they would try to convince me to stay awhile.

"Oh, honey, Auggie's out with his friends. He's going to be upset he missed you."

"I'll come back another time. I just…I need to tell you something."

My dad frowned. "You aren't pregnant, are you? Please tell me you aren't pregnant."

"What?"

"Cory!" Mom swatted his arm lightly.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Is everything alright, Riley?"

"Yes. No. Sort of?" I sat down on the couch and my parents followed suit, flanking me on either side. I didn't know where to start. I regretted coming. I should've waited until I found another job before saying anything. But it was too late now. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. "Mom, Dad…I found out yesterday, or rather they told me yesterday at the newspaper that…well, the thing is…I was fired."

I'll never forget the silence that followed. Surprised. Shocked. Maybe a little disappointed? "I couldn't make my deadline," I sighed to fill the gap. "They let me go."

"Honey…" my mother laid a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"So, I just thought I'd come here and tell you that," I finished. "Because I'm not sure what to do now." My mom enveloped me in a hug, rocking me gently back and forth like she did when I was little and inconsolable.

"What do you need, Riley?" my dad asked after a moment in thought.

"Huh?"

"Right now. What do you need?"

Even my mother seemed confused.

"A job?"

Dad shook his head. "No, Riley. More than that."

"…money?"

He shook his head again. "Even more than that."

I racked my brain. "Your love and support?"

Dad nodded his head slowly. "And do you have it?"

"Do I?"

"You shouldn't even need to ask," he said gently. "You always have it. And if you have that, the rest will follow. The rest will be fine."

It was a nice thought. A cute, comforting one that I would have clung to were it not for the simple fact that right now, I had no job and no income. Love and support were great, but they don't pay bills. They don't keep you occupied. It wasn't a real answer or a real solution.

My mother took a more pragmatic approach. "How much do you have saved up right now?" she asked. "How many months can you go without a job and still make rent?"

I shrugged. "Three or four months. But I don't want you to—"

"Sweetheart, we know if you need it, you'll ask. Three or four months is a while. That'll buy you some time. Have you started looking?"

I shook my head. "I don't even know where to start. This came out of nowhere."

Mom thought a moment. "The court's always looking for court reporters and transcribers. There's a couple of classes you'd have to take but after that, I'm sure I could get you in."

"Maybe," I replied half-heartedly. I knew she was trying to help, but stenography was about the last thing I wanted to do right then. Sitting and transcribing exactly what everyone said in court sounded more tedious than the freelance work I had been doing all along.

"And if you don't like that, we're looking for a receptionist at the law firm," she continued. "You're friendly! You like people. You'd be great at that!" She could tell I wasn't totally onboard. "Look, I am sure that we can find you something. Even if it means picking up shifts at the bakery until something more permanent comes along."

I sighed. The bakery was always an option. It had always been an option. But picking up shifts at my mom's side business was something I did in high school and between semesters at college. It wasn't a career. I wouldn't be able to face myself if I knew the only thing saving me from eviction was the convenience of my mother's charity.

"I just thought of something," Dad spoke up. We turned to look at him. "Josh is producing a documentary."

"Josh, your brother Josh?" Mom questioned.

"Yeah," Dad nodded. "What other Joshes do we know that could be working on a film project?" Dad was right. Uncle Josh was the only filmmaker we knew. "He was asking if I had any students interested in helping out as a paid production assistant. I don't have any, but maybe it's something you could do."

I thought it over. Production assistant certainly sounded more exciting than school office worker or court transcriber or bakery cashier, even if I wasn't exactly sure what being a production assistant entailed. "What's the documentary about?"

"Something to do with social services," Dad answered. I could tell he knew more than he was letting on. "Give him a call, see what he says."

The more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed to me. I could make some money. I would actually be doing something that got me out of the house. And I would be working for Uncle Josh. I hadn't seen him in a while. His work took him all over the place shooting all kinds of projects—National Geographic nature shows, History Channel specials in Egypt, and feature-length documentaries that debuted at small film festivals. It might even be fun. "Alright. I'll talk to him."