Well, I'm writing two tests and an exam this week, but I'm doing this instead of studying. What can you do?

If you enjoy this, please consider commenting, even if it's one word.
Whipped Cream & Other Delights,
TheHarleyQueen


THE GREAT LADY OF NEW YORK read the chalkboard. Of course; it was Culture Week, so of course, her dad would deviate from the syllabus. She loved him to pieces, but sometimes she wondered if he actually had a teaching plan other than Belgium, 1831. And Riley was pretty certain she already knew exactly how this Culture Week was going to go. This wasn't her first rodeo.

When she was four, her nursery school teacher had told them to go find out where their family came from, and dress up in that style for the concert (where they, of course, performed the iconic This Land is Your Land). Riley had stood on the stage in her favourite dress, but had still looked out-of-place next to the bright huipil of the girl next to her or the IsiNene and iBheshu of the boy behind her. Riley knew that she wasn't the Great Lady of anywhere. She was from New York, and then Philadelphia, and San Francisco, and so on. The United States of America seemed to be all the Matthews/Lawrences had ever known.

But still, Riley put on a smile, as her dad reminded her that everyone had a story, even though, whenever she asked, their story was cream cheese and the Liberty Bell. She had long ago googled where her parents' last names came from, and that only ever led to the vague answer of Europe. So, yes, she had a pretty good idea of how Culture Week went down in her family. She wouldn't bother asking again. Rather, she'd listen quietly as Maya bumbled her way through the history of the statue of liberty and Nigel spoke about his grandmother's history. She'd play along with her dad so that he could introduce his assignment.

Through the rest of the school day, she couldn't keep her mind from Culture Week. Booths were steadily being set up through the halls, and she daydreamed through English and Maths, turning her mind to the more difficult problem of making her presentation good enough to get a reasonable grade, even though her Matthews and Lawrence heritage was nothing to be excited over.

Even though she spent the entire day thinking (with the exception of science. She'd learnt that she couldn't let her attention drift for even a moment in Science, or her grade would most certainly make a drop from an A to an A-. You made a big deal about being good enough in this subject, now you have to prove it), but it was only in her last class of the day that an actual plan started to form. They were supposed to be learning to draw human figures (but Maya had already deviated into a human figure curled up in the fetal position, and the tin of purple paint with the letters RILEY MATTHEWS stamped on had been left on her desk). But Riley wasn't in a purple cat mood, and her human figure would never be completed. Rather, her shoulder blade became a clasp and her hipbone became the first of the stripes, and before she knew it, she was lost in a different world, Hallelujah blaring through her headphones, adjusting proportions and colours until it was perfect (she was so in her head that she didn't even notice when Mr Jackson briefly glanced over her work, expecting to see another purple cat, only to be brought to a halt by the piece on Riley's sketch pad. She didn't notice when he stood behind her for nearly two minutes, the kind of time he usually only spent on students like Maya and Lucas, who would probably take art as a full-time subject next year). And when the bell rang, she stuffed her pencils into her bag and nearly ran out the door, only for Mr Jackson to stop her and ask her to remain behind. She did so (she'd never disobeyed a teacher) thoughts frantically racing about how to explain away that she hadn't done the assignment, but not even to paint a purple cat. She didn't need to, though.

"Can I see that dress again, Ms Matthews?" he asked her, voice betraying nothing. She silently pulled the sketch pad from her bag and showed it to him. It was the only drawing inside, even though they'd done six or seven sketch pieces in class already. Mr Jackson said nothing about that, simply taking a pencil from his desk and adjusting a few of the measurements and notes Riley had made about the material that would be required to make the dress. He handed the pad back to her and she put it away before he spoke again.

"Ms Matthews, I don't normally do this kind of thing. I believe that to be an artist, one should know all aspects of art, even if you don't use any of them. But you have a real talent in a difficult field of art. So I'll make you a deal." He met her eyes and smiled, "If you can make that dress, as it is on the paper, I'll mark you on the dress instead of the task you were supposed to do."

He clearly wasn't mad about that fact that she hadn't done what she was supposed to, and for a moment, Riley understood why Maya and Lucas both enjoyed art. When you were told you'd done something good, and original, it felt amazing. When she was in middle school, she'd always tried to garner that praise in art. When that hadn't worked, she'd decided to stick with the purple cats anyway, hoping to at least be commended for her dedication. When that, too, hadn't worked, she'd felt it was too late to return to what everyone else did in art. If she did, she was sure there would be an intervention in history class, and she hadn't wanted to sit through another of those. So purple cats it was.

But now, after being told that something she did in art meant something, Riley thought that she might actually enjoy art as a subject. She smiled at Mr Jackson and nodded before leaving the classroom, without a word. She didn't think that there was anything to be said.

It was only when she was outside that she remembered the other reason she didn't like art class. Because, even though she was with Lucas (and she was happy. She was!) and Maya and Josh were in it for the long game, and Maya and Zay were in it for the short game (and hadn't that been an interesting development on Sunday), art class was like the fireside for Maya and Lucas. Where they bonded. Where she felt like Lucas chose wrong.

"What are we talking about?" she asked as she joined the conversation. Lucas and Maya immediately went silent, stifling giggles (they were talking about you. You're pathetic).

"Nothing, Riles. Just joking around," but again, she shot Lucas one of their Art-Class-Fireplace Looks and Riley thought she'd never felt more alone, even surrounded by people.

"Anyhow. Are we going to Topanga's? As good a place as any to do research, right?" Maya asked, smiling at her. Riley smiled back at her best friend (she still hasn't brought up the news clothes. And why should she? It's not her problem), "I'll meet you there, Peaches. I've got something to do first."

Maya blinked at her in surprise, but then smiled and hooked her arm into Lucas's. He himself (who's said nothing to you yet) pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before walking with Maya, tipping an imaginary cowboy hat and calling her ma'am. Riley smiled sadly after them (can't blame them for not being interested in you. Just look at your history. You're not interesting) before walking a couple of paces behind them to the school doors (it doesn't matter that you're all going in the same direction. You don't have to walk together. You're not a super-possessive girlfriend who's jealous when her boyfriend talks to his friends).


Riley did not know where to find material. She probably should have been done ages ago. School had ended nearly two hours ago, now, and all she had found was material printed with an American flag. She needed actual material, needed thread, needed a clasp. And she was stuck. She didn't know why she'd ever thought this was a good idea- she didn't even know how to sew! She was going to fail tomorrow and look stupid on Friday and Mr Jackson would be disappointed in her and she didn't even have a sewing machine and she couldn't even ask her parents to help because neither her mom or dad knew how to sew, because- well, there was an idea.

She pulled out her phone and dialled the only person who could possibly help her right now.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hi, Uncle Shawn. It's Riley," (it didn't sting that he didn't have her number, even though he had Maya's. It didn't).

"Hey, baby-Cory! What can I help you with today?"

"Mom and dad say you know how to sew, and I need help."

"You need help sewing something?"

"No, I need to learn how to sew before tomorrow. I have to make a dress."

On the other end of the line, Shawn Hunter blinked in surprise. Well, no one ever said that the child of Cory and Topanga would be a reasonable, easy-going child.

"Uh, well, you can come over, I guess? We'll have a lot of work to do."

"But I don't have the material yet!" Riley cried into the phone, biting at her fingernails.

"I think we'll have to do a lot of work before you're ready to make a dress, kiddo. Does it have to be done by tomorrow?"

Riley bit her lip, a piece of nail between her teeth, "I could probably get dad to push my presentation back to Friday," she murmured timidly.

"Perfect! You know where I live. See you in-"

"Twenty minutes."

"See you in twenty minutes, baby Cory!"

Riley hung up the phone and hurried over to the cash register to pay for the flag material. She'd need it eventually, she knew. Made sense to just buy it now.

In her hurry, she completely forgot that she'd agreed to meet at Topanga's.


It was past ten when the door to Maya's apartment opened. Well, she was here for Shawn, but in her head, it would always be Maya's apartment (even though she knew that they were looking to move). She and Uncle Shawn had been buried in the technicalities of sewing for hours.

She'd already called her parents to assure them she was fine, just spending the night at Maya's. Uncle Shawn had offered her grilled cheese for dinner and she'd accepted. Over dinner, he'd told her why he knew how to sew. She'd known he grew up poor, but hearing it from him, about the trailer park and needing to mend all his own clothes because he didn't have a parent who could do it for him, made her appreciate him all over again. He was her Uncle Shawn, and no matter how awkward they'd once been together, they loved each other.

It was after ten, past Maya's curfew, and he was trying not to show it, but Uncle Shawn had been glancing at the clock every few minutes, worried about his pseudo-step-daughter. But when the key clicked in the lock and Maya came in, she was happy and light. She spoke to someone in the hall, softly, and closed the door behind her on a good note.

"Oh, hey Riles! We missed you at Topanga's. Your mom said you were busy, though, so we didn't want to go bother you," she frowned, leaving small lines between her brows, "were you waiting for me?" And Riley couldn't say anything, because she'd placed a name with the voice from the hall. Lucas had walked Maya home (but that meant nothing, right? The triangle was over). But she didn't have to answer, because, at that same moment, Katy Hunter brushed through the door behind her daughter, taking up the room with her busy personality (Riley loved Maya's mom. She was always so happy). Riley just resumed her lesson on seam allowances. She stayed up with her Uncle Shawn the whole night, long after her best friend had gone to bed (after pillaging the kitchen for potatoes. Riley wasn't quite sure what that was about).

It was nearing six am when Uncle Shawn stood up and pulled her up by the shoulders.

"Now, my young Padawan," he began, smiling proudly, "go out into the world. Sew everything you can. Just don't sew your fingers together." They shared a smile and yawn, and Riley knew it would be another school day without any sleep (but it was worth it, and she'd been surviving off less and less sleep recently. It was taking longer to fall asleep, her thoughts plagued by Real World Problems).

Riley left Maya's house for the subway at seven. She borrowed a set of Maya's clothes and ate a slice of toast at the Hunter-Hart household, and promised her Uncle Shawn she'd be back after school to steal the sewing machine. She walked next to her best friend, and they spoke about Maya's presentation plan, how she was going to hand out potatoes and show off Irish soap (Riley didn't have the heart to point out that bagpipes were Scottish. For all she knew, Maya had done it on purpose). They also stopped at a convenience store on the way to school and Riley bought some cheese (throwing cheese at people would definitely convince her dad that they all needed to redo the project).

Riley was great at being the old Riley, the pre-knowledge of The Riley Committee Riley. But as she said the words "Riley McCheese", she saw how Farkle's face fell, and knew that she'd need to talk to her lab partner, her best friend, privately.

It was a lot of work to corner him though. Eventually, while she was taking notes in science, she scribbled a note (between the definition of a Brønsted-Lowry acid), asking him to join her on her hunt for material after school. Farkle could never say no to her.

And that was how she'd found herself comparing linings in a fabric store while Farkle Minkus braided her hair. What he'd found the previous day must have been beyond upsetting for him, because he'd braided her hair three times already, starting with a french and then a dutch and then a fishtail. Now he was working on a lattice braid while consulting Riley on colours. She let him. He'd talk when he was ready.

She was right about that. As he walked her to Maya's apartment, her hair in one of the most complicated braids she'd ever seen, he quietly whispered to her about the Danish Minkus's, (Minki, she could hear Maya saying) and how he was pretty sure they were Jewish. He told her what little he knew about his great grandfather, who'd left Denmark to escape the Nazis (as best he could tell). And even as Riley's heartbroke listening to him (he sounded so lost. Like he didn't know who he was anymore. She supposed that that was true. In another life, Farkle may have been Jewish), her resolve strengthened to make this dress. Because her presentation would be about Farkle's great grandfather, and Nigel's grandmother, and Zay's ancestors (she didn't know what he'd find, yet, but she was sure it was nothing good).

She spent the whole night finishing the dress. Farkle sat next to her, researching. And She'd missed another night at Topanga's, missed possible anecdotes and missed Lucas and Maya, but she needed to do this. All her life, when heritage days came around, she was just Riley Matthews of America. This time, she'd be more. This time, she'd be the Great Lady of New York.

Uncle Shawn helped her with the dress too. She did the big pieces, but he attached the cape, he stitched the fleur-de-lis onto the shoulder (the Statue of Liberty is French, after all).

And maybe Maya was confused to walk into her house and see her two best friends sitting side by side, but she didn't comment, didn't pry. There was something about this Culture Week that had changed them, and she didn't know how to reach them. Rather, she retreated to her room (and Riley didn't think about how she wasn't good enough company for Maya. Rather, she smiled and kissed Farkle on the nose when he pointed out a misdone stitch and texted Zay about Ghana) while Riley and Farkle finished their presentations for the next day. Something the two of them, who'd thought that they had no story, only to realise their stories were some of the greatest, needed to do together.


The next day, the five of them walked through the Culture Fair, walking between the Cambodian and Irish and Ghanan and Flemish booths (Lucas had tracked his last name back to the people of Flanders), and Riley knew she'd chosen the right way to present her topic (there was no America booth), because she saw how sad Farkle was to have missed his heritage. So when the speaker told her to "get outta here!" Riley gave Farkle a tight hug and slipped away from her friends to get dressed. History was her last class today. But she'd be taking the dress in to Mr Jackson after school.

She missed Maya's presentation (you're a terrible friend) but this was important to her, and she couldn't let it go, not for anyone. And when her dad called her name up, she tentatively entered the classroom, her train behind her, her stomach fluttering, her dress tight ("go big or go home, baby Cory," Uncle Shawn had said when she and Farkle left last night). The class stared, and she was afraid she'd lost her voice, but then Farkle smiled at her and she felt like she was on top of the world. Her best friends believed in her, how could she not be?

"Almost everyone in the USA today is an immigrant. We all came from somewhere," she began. She locked eyes with Farkle. He'd helped her research the history of the country. He believed in her idea, "my ancestors took the land from the people it belonged to and killed them. There is only 10% of the Native American population left. And then my ancestors stayed here for so long that they can't really be considered anything other than American." Between sentences, she took deep breaths. This is a good idea, she told herself (even as she could feel the anxiety that came with a bad grade crawling up inside her) this is a real story.

"My ancestors' stories aren't great ones. They're cruel. But my story, today, is that I am American. I am made of all of the people in all of the colonies and all of the states," she gestured to her dress, "because that's what the United States comes down to. People change people. The secret of life." She smiled at her dad, but couldn't read his face. She swallowed and continued, "The Matthews and Lawrence families originate from somewhere in Europe, but they're American. That's my great story. That a million tiny things, and millions of people, had to influence everyone's lives to bring me to this point. America doesn't have a booth in Cultural Week because we're every culture."

She smiled at the class, holding eye contact with Nigel and Zay and Farkle (and she tried to make eye contact with Lucas, but he wasn't looking at her), "Once upon a time, Riley Matthews lived in New York City. Because of that, she lived everywhere."

She took her seat, and her dad looked up from his marking sheet, "Thanks, Riley." Then he spoke more directly to the class, "Go on. Get outta here."

And as her classmates walked past her, they brushed her dress and smiled at her, and Riley thought she'd made a real difference.

And eventually, she left too, to admire the portrait that had given the idea in the first place. Farkle stood behind her, and Zay, Lucas, and Maya behind them. And when the other three questioned his history, she took his hand and held it tight as he told the story of his great grandfather, his eyes fixed on a spot above all their heads. And when the final bell rang, Riley pulled him into a tight hug.


It was only that night when she discovered why Lucas wouldn't make eye contact with her during her presentation. She'd called him to wish him good night when he brought it up.

"Actually, Riles, can we talk about your presentation today?"

"Sure," she responded, making herself more comfortable, "but I do have to go to bed soon. I've had, like, six hours of sleep in the last two days". To prove her point, she stifled a yawn.

"Yeah, I'll be quick. Look, it made me look really bad when you brought that stuff up, okay?"

Except it wasn't okay, because she didn't even understand what he was talking about. But when she voiced as much, he just continued, "Yeah. Look, my ancestors were those guys, okay. I'm a white guy from Texas. My ancestors had slaves. They were part of the Confederacy. All of it. And bringing all that bad blood up… I felt like everyone was looking at me weirdly, okay. It's like… I get you wanted to establish yourself, and whatever, but like, I wish you'd asked if it was okay with me first, you know?"

And Riley had so much she wanted to say. It's my history too, Lucas. We can't run from the past. It's weirder that you're running from it than that it happened. But it wasn't her place. Maybe he did feel uncomfortable. So instead, she said, "No one thinks that of you. You're Mr Perfect in everyone's eyes. And I know that's not always ideal, but I promise that everyone knows you're nothing like the people I was talking about."

Lucas said nothing, though, and she didn't know what more to do. So she wished him good night and hung up.

Sleep wouldn't find her that night, though. Rather, she would lie for a couple hours before turning on her laptop and writing a blog post about her day. She fell asleep around three in the morning, laptop on her stomach.

Sleepless nights were becoming more and more frequent for Riley Matthews.