Disclaimer: I do not own the plots or characters of Girl Meets World or Boy Meets world. Only the alternate events in Don't Look Down are mine.
a/n: I'm super excited to start this story! Updates will be periodic as chapters are written. The first chapter is short, but I will upload the second chapter with it!
Chapter One
"It's trash."
With those words, the smile on Maya's face plummeted with the hope she'd had only moments earlier. "W-what?" She remembered a time when she never stuttered.
The woman in front of her, Melissa Moreau—excuse her, Dr. Moreau, rolled her eyes. The corners of her burgundy-stained lips dipped further from their permanent frown into a deep scowl. "Do you need subtitles, Ms. Hart?" She promptly shut the 11x14 folder and tossed it across the desk, letting it tumble back into Maya's clutches. "Your portfolio—it's garbage."
Maya frowned, clutching the sides of the folder as if it were a lifeline. In a way, it was.
"Who fed you lies of potential, I don't know. But if I were you, I would sue." The woman removed her cat-eye glasses, dropping them to dangle from her neck by the beaded string whilst she rubbed her wrinkly temples. "You're an intern, Ms. Hart." (Hunter, Maya wanted to interject.) "If you had any talent, you would've been offered a full-time job by now."
Maya dropped her gaze, reminded herself that crying would only make things much, much worse.
Dr. Moreau blew out an exaggerated sigh—Maya could feel the agitation whip against her face—and cleared her throat. "I suggest you stop trying—before you have to encounter any more rejection—and get back to the reason we hired you: coffee runs and filing." A brutal invitation to leave if there ever was one.
Defeated, Maya nodded her insincere gratitude, then stood up and walked out of the office. As she made her way down the hallway, she belittled herself for ever getting her hopes up. This was the third time she presented her boss a revised portfolio, and this was third time Dr. Moreau rejected her. Frankly, if Dr. Moreau had the sole right to hire and fire as she pleased, Maya imagined this internship would've arrived and left in a weeks time.
Thankfully, Dr. Moreau was only her supervisor, and Maya had yet to upset anyone else.
It was already seven o'clock in the evening—Maya had stayed an extra hour for her meeting with Dr. Moreau. She'd long since completed her work for the day and there was a twelve-page analyses of Henri Rousseau's, The Sleeping Gypsy waiting to be written for her Art Appreciation class. The paper itself wasn't due for another week, but Dr. Moreau wanted her working everyday next week.
Maya kept her emotions in check while she exited the building, charging through the double doors at the entrance and into the rain. Hailing a taxi was second-nature to her, so she—thankfully—made it back to the apartment fairly dry. She knew Riley and Farkle would both be home, so she was conscious to blot the tears from her eyes in the elevator ride up to the top floor.
In terms of living arrangements, the apartment deal was the only thing that had lived up to—actually exceeded—expectations. Farkle's family was not only rich, but extremely generous, and the three students lived in a three bedroom, two bathroom apartment with Stewart Minkus covering a quarter of the monthly rent and Riley, Farkle, and Maya each paying a third of what was left.
The only downside was that Farkle and Riley were notorious extraverts. Maya was not. Maya wanted to go straight to her room, finish her homework, and sleep her emotions off. The other two wanted every detail of her day down to the T.
Which meant that Maya had quickly learned to reign in her emotions in one minute and forty-seven seconds—the time it took to ride the elevator to the sixteenth floor with no interruptions.
By the time she made it to their door, she was ninety-five percent certain most of the puffiness in her eyes had lessened and the redness in her cheeks had dwindled.
And fortunately so, because Riley and Farkle were indeed sitting quietly on the couch, waiting for her.
"How did it go?" Farkle asked eagerly before Maya even fully shut the door behind her.
Riley was quick to respond, smacking his shoulder and glaring at his pointedly. "Farkle! Give the woman a minute!"
Maya chuckled halfheartedly and forced a small grin to appease her awaiting audience. "It's fine, Riley. Dr. Moreau gave me a few pointers and told me to, uh, keep trying." It was half of the truth. Dr. Moreau did give her a few pointers, namely to give up and stop thinking she had potential, which, Maya supposed, made the last part of her own statement a complete lie.
But Riley and Farkle didn't necessarily need to know the details.
Of course, it didn't matter that Maya tried to hide her disappointment. As much as she was the master of masking emotion, she had lived with these two lunatics for the last two years; they could read her like a book.
"Oh, Peaches!" Riley stood from the couch and in two paces was wrapping her arms around the smaller woman.
Powerless against her best friend, Maya yielded to Riley's embrace and returned the gesture. "I'm okay, Riles. I was half-expecting it anyway."
"Still," Farkle spoke up, having stood and was observing the two girls, "you've already revised your portfolio three times. What more could she have to say about it? It's perfect!"
Pulling herself from Riley, Maya sighed in defeat, fingering the strap of her leather messenger bag, which was slung over her shoulder. "Art is never perfect, Farkle. Especially mine."
Riley frowned. "Don't think like that, Maya. Things are changing. Your day is coming—I just know it."
"Thanks, Riles," Maya responded because she wasn't sure what else to say. "I'm pretty beat. I need to get a start on my paper, and then I think I'm just gonna head to bed." She kissed Riley on the forehead and hugged Farkle, then retreated to the back room.
In the two years she had lived here, Maya never bothered to personalize her room. She had a few pictures from high school, some of Shawn and her mom, and even one of the new baby Hunter. In thick contrast to Riley's room—which was blue and yellow—, Maya never bothered to paint the walls. Her bedspread was a simple quilt her mom made for her as a high school graduation present, and the only decoration she really had other than her pictures was the lamp by her bed.
If Shawn were here, she imagined he would interpret her room's lack of personality as a reflection of her "restless spirit."
"Your heart says this is just a stop," he would say, lacking the disapproval everyone else gave her, and she would appreciate it.
With a groan, Maya fell face first onto her mattress, limbs splaying across the full-sized bed. She kicked her high-heeled pumps off her feet. She inhaled the linen-scent of her pillow, then flipped onto her back and started counting the imperfections of her ceiling.
"I swear, Maya," Riley told her once, agitated by Maya's opinion of her most recent boyfriend, "all your good for sometimes is finding the imperfections in life." And while it was mostly said in good fun, because that boyfriend ended up being married, Maya couldn't deny the truth in the statement.
But Riley didn't understand. She couldn't understand. Even with a few hits and misses, Riley's life was much different from her own. Through every bum boyfriend and bad grade and rejected application, Riley had the stable support Maya didn't. And, yes, she could argue her support was found in her friendships, but it wasn't the same as what Riley had.
"Hope is for suckers," Maya said as an adolescent. And then Shawn married her mom and she found her family in her friends and she discovered her passion for art, and suddenly hope was what kept her going.
Fast forward six years, and life's cruelest joke was giving her hope.
The expanse of their high school friend group had split up, some on not great terms. Her mom and Shawn were struggling to keep their marriage together while they cared for the sickly TJ Hunter (which stood for Topanga Junior). And her art career? She made the Dean's List every semester at NYU. The feedback she received from her professors was enough to land her an internship at one of the most prestigious art studios in the city. But when it really counted, she just couldn't reach the bar with her art.
At this pace, she would be making coffee runs and filing papers for a dictating boss the rest of her life.
In spite of it all, Maya never really reverted to thinking hope was for suckers. It seemed everyone else was doing fine. Farkle was on track to graduate after this semester and had a job lined up already. Riley's grades would surely pave her way to Harvard for Medical School once she finished up her Pre-Med at Columbia—if she could let go of her current boyfriend. (Maya didn't really like him, but Riley was far too content to listen.)
In the end, Maya's conclusion was not that hope was for suckers. She just supposed it wasn't for her.
Thursday lunch with Shawn was the highlight of Maya's week. Living in the same city as her parents didn't necessarily mean she got to see them often. As it turned out, college kept her busy, and when school wasn't getting in the way of her personal life, her job typically was. The only times she got to see her parents and little sister were the weekends unoccupied by smothering loads of homework. Thursday lunch was the only routine time she had with Shawn.
"So Cory mentioned Dr. Dictator rejected your portfolio."
Maya froze mid-bite, then rolled her eyes and continued chewing. Of course Riley would tell her parents about her portfolio two days after it was rejected, and Cory told Shawn everything. "It's not that big of a deal, Shawn. And you can't keep calling her Dr. Dictator—I swear, the woman hears everything!"
Shawn scowled as he picked through his salad. "Your mom wants me to eat better," he had responded to her questioning look when they ordered. Maya could foretell exactly how long this healthy-eating resolution would last by the way Shawn was carefully picking around the spinach, forking just the chicken and the croutons.
"How come you haven't quit?" he questioned bluntly, hastily removing a piece of arugula from his slice of chicken with the tip of his finger.
Maya groaned. "Dad, I can't just quit. Aside from maybe MOMA, this is the most prestigious art studio in NYC!"
"And what is your job again? Taking coffee orders and shredding papers?"
She shook her head. "I mean, they let me serve drinks at the showcases when I've been good." Unfortunately, the words were very much true. "I'm the only intern they accepted this year. I can't just let an opportunity like this go."
"Maya," Shawn sighed, tilting his head as he always did when he was about to impart on her some impactful piece of wisdom, "this woman treats you like crap. You aren't going to get noticed so long as you're under her control."
Maya dipped her head in resignation. "I know, it's just—"
"What?"
"—What if no one else wants to give me chance? What if I let this opportunity fly by, and it's the only one I'll ever get?"
"And what if it's not?" Shawn raised his brow pointedly. "What if you take the risk and drop the job, and there's a hundred other people waiting to give you a chance."
Maya counted the sesame seeds on her burger, pondering Shawn's words.
Her step-dad's hand reached for her own, giving her dainty hand a comforting squeeze. "I can tell you this." He paused, probably mulling over his words. "If you do you stick with this job, it will be the only opportunity you ever get. You're worth more than that, kid. Stop telling yourself you don't deserve something better."
Maya said nothing, but nodded.
"Listen," Shawn continued, his tone changing with the topic, "your mom and I are having Josh over for dinner tomorrow night. Swing by the apartment eat with us. I know your mom would love to have you with us, and you didn't hear it from me, but I think Josh misses you, too."
And even at twenty years old, Maya would never say no to spending time with the youngest Matthews' brother. She was ninety-percent sure Shawn knew that, too. Breathing out, Maya nodded again. "Okay."