Revisionist History
Riley took her seat in the place that was always most comfortable – front and center, precisely where her father could cater his history lesson to whatever was going on in her life. Only that day, things seemed a little different.
Maya walked into the room a few steps behind Riley, and as she took her seat behind her best friend (where she'd been since halfway through their freshman year and hadn't moved in the two years since), she wrinkled her tiny nose.
"Somethin' ain't right," Maya said.
"What?" Riley asked, worry creeping up in her voice. "What do you mean, something isn't right? I like it for things to be right, Maya. I like it when things are right."
Maya chuckled.
"Whatever you say, Topanga," she said. "But let's think about it for a minute."
"Think about what?"
"Riles, be real for a second. What's going on today?"
"There's meatloaf in the cafeteria."
"Would you be serious for, like, one second?"
"Meatloaf is very serious, Maya. It's a gray blob, and I don't know anything more serious than a gray blob."
As the bell rang, Lucas and Farkle walked into the familiar classroom and took their seats – Lucas next to Maya, and Farkle next to Riley, the way it had been for what, now, felt like forever. Just before Lucas could really sit down, Maya grabbed his hand and forced him to stay standing.
"What did I do to deserve this?" Lucas asked. He was play whining – a tone of voice he'd mastered since he met Maya in the seventh grade.
"Oh, you didn't hear?" she asked. "I'm the ranger now. My first and foremost responsibility is careening wild animals like you."
Lucas smirked. There was something much sweeter about the way Maya made fun of him now that they were about to celebrate the first anniversary of their first non-smoothie-over-the-head date.
"Maya, let him go," Riley said.
"Look at us, Riley," Maya said. "Triangle? Resolved."
"The triangle's been resolved a long time. I don't really know what you're getting at."
"Ya don't?"
"I don't think so."
"OK, let me try it this way. Who here has extreme inner turmoil?"
Maya felt someone raise a hand behind her. She turned around to see Zay, leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide open … and awkward. Slowly, he lowered his hand.
"You didn't mean gastrointestinal inner turmoil, did ya?" he asked.
"You need a hall pass?" Maya asked.
"Naw, I gotta risk it," Zay said and dashed out of the classroom. He ran so quickly he didn't even notice he bumped into Cory, who was on his way in as the bell finally rang.
"Gastrointestinal inner turmoil?" he asked.
"It was the meatloaf, sir," Farkle said.
"Ah-ha!" Riley said, pointing at Maya accusingly. "See, Maya? I knew the meatloaf was serious business."
"You're very bright," Maya said. "But for whatever reason, you're distracting yourself from what's really going on."
"What's really going on?" Farkle asked.
"Today's a boring day, unless you're the boy's bathroom," Maya said. "Nobody's in adolescent distress. Nobody's in a triangle. I don't know what we're gonna learn in history class if the kids are alright!"
"The Who!" Smackle said from behind Farkle, slamming her palms on the desk.
Farkle jumped and whirled around in his seat.
"Smackle!" he said. "You gotta warn a guy before you … Smackle!"
"If that was some sort of pun, I refuse to respond to it," she said. "And now that we are no longer beloved, I owe you no explanation or warning when I …"
She raised her palms to slam them down on the desk again, but Lucas grabbed her hands and gently placed them back on the desk.
"Don't hit on me in front of Maya," she said.
Lucas smirked again, and as he turned around in his seat, the students saw that Cory had written two words in big capital letters on the chalkboard. He was pointing at them harshly, just like he had before they'd gone to Mount Sun Ski Lodge in the ninth grade.
"Revisionist History," he said.
Maya burst out laughing. She leaned back in her seat and pointed at the board like she knew something (because she did).
"Something funny, Maya?" Cory asked.
"Oh, yeah, something's funny," Maya said. "I get it."
"You get what?"
"I get where you're going with this."
"How did you get where I was going with this? I only said two words."
"Smarter than I look, Matthews. You know that. You've been telling me for years."
Maya looked over at Lucas, still beaming.
"Do you get it, Huckleberry?" she asked.
Lucas nodded.
"Yeah, I think I might," he said.
Now, it was Farkle's turn to slam his hands down on his desk.
"What?" he asked. "How do you two see where Hambone's going with his lesson, and I don't? What is this? Did the meatloaf turn me into a dum-dum?"
Zay sauntered back into the classroom and tried to take his seat like nothing had happened.
"Add a letter P to that phrase of yours, and you'll be on the right track," he said, nonchalantly as ever.
Riley turned around and looked at Maya, real concern in her brown eyes. There was nothing she hated more than when she wasn't on the same page as her best friend. They hadn't felt that way in awhile. Maybe since Maya had started dating Lucas. But there they were again. Riley couldn't explain it, but she knew what she felt. And it was small.
"Maya?" she asked, her voice so tiny it reminded her of being twelve years old again, despite the fact that she was seventeen. "How do you know where he's going with the lesson?"
"Pay attention to him, Riley," Maya said. "He's got something important to say."
"Aww, you got your serious voice on," Riley said with a healthy dose of dread. "Did you eat the meatloaf?"
"Can we drop the meatloaf?" Lucas asked.
"I just did!" Zay said.
Cory, in his fifth straight year of teaching his favorite children, stood at the front of the room, completely unfazed. He pointed to the words REVISIONIST HISTORY on the board again, this time with a softer touch.
"Can anybody tell me what revisionist history refers to?" he asked.
Farkle raised his hand but spoke before being called on, just like a Farkle would do.
"It's when someone goes in and skews the historical records and narratives so that they say the things that person wants them to say," he said. "It's when one side of the story takes over, even if it isn't the full story … sometimes, even if it isn't true."
"Very good, Farkle," Cory said. "Revisionist history changes what really happened in the past to suit the needs you have in the present. When people conduct revisionist history, they end up erasing a lot of important people, places, and ideas. Can you think of any examples?"
Riley raised her hand but spoke before being called on, just like a Riley would do.
"The history books don't tell us about the women from Hidden Figures," she said. "They want us to forget that black women made important contributions to science and space so that other people seem more important."
"That's a fantastic example, Riley," Cory said. "Anybody else?"
"I eat the meatloaf in the cafeteria every Monday even though I know what it's gonna do to me later," Zay said. "I revise history every time the lunch lady looks at me with those big blue eyes and that hairnet."
Cory couldn't help but laugh.
"Zay brings up a good point," he said. "In fact, it's the kind of good point that leads to an assignment."
And, as always, when everyone else groaned in disappointment, one Farkle Minkus let out his famous, "Yay!"
"When you're at home tonight, I want you to think of a way you've practiced revisionist history in your own life and your own memory," Cory said. "We've all done it. We all have different reasons for doing it. But sometimes, the memories that we revise deserve to be remembered the way they really happened."
"Why is that, sir?" Farkle asked.
And judging by the smile on her father's face, Riley knew there was something very wrong about this assignment … very wrong indeed.
"I don't know, Farkle," he said. "I think that's for you to find out."
The class was quiet, but Riley was deep in thought. She looked over at Farkle, and when they made eye contact, her heart leapt into her throat. It caught her off guard. She couldn't remember ever looking at Farkle and feeling that way before. Right? Wasn't that the case?
She turned back into her notebook, but she couldn't shake the feeling that had just passed through her. Of course she'd revised her own little bits and pieces of history.
But why did she feel like Farkle knew exactly what she wanted to say before she even said it?
That night at dinner, Riley asked her mother if she'd ever revised bits and pieces of her own history.
"Of course not," Topanga said. "My history is flawless, and my memory is the same. I've never revised anything because I've never needed to."
"The truth, Topanga," Cory said.
Topanga sighed. She would have gotten away with it if it weren't for that meddling spouse.
"All right, fine," she said. "I've revised a few things, I suppose."
"Like what?" Riley asked.
"Well, when I was younger, I told your father that I was really into going out and going dancing," Topanga said. "But then I forgot all about that, and suddenly, all I wanted to do was go to art museums and interpret all the different paintings on the walls."
Riley wrinkled her nose in confusion. Then, finally, she spoke.
"I don't get it."
Cory and Topanga shared a laugh of their own. It was the kind of laugh you shared with someone you loved because you'd loved them forever, and you couldn't imagine a world where they weren't part of you. It was the kind of love Riley had been dreaming about since the first minute she realized who her parents were. It was the kind of love that at seventeen years old, she thought she might never get.
"I couldn't keep my hobbies and interests very consistent when I was a younger woman because I was so focused on beating Stuart Minkus for the number of A's we got in school," Topanga said. "So, every time I became interested in something new, it was like a reset button. I revised what I wanted to do … based on what I wanted to do in the moment."
"It sounds like you just pulled random hobbies and interests out of a hat," Riley said.
Luckily for Riley, her mother laughed.
"It was something like that," she said. "What about you, sweetie? Do you have any memories in your history that didn't quite happen the way you thought they should have?"
Riley furrowed her brow in thought. Finally, she spoke.
"I don't know," she said. "I've been thinking about it all day. I even tried to write my story in creative writing about a girl who realizes all her memories have been tainted, but it was just too sad! The closest I got to a memory I revised for myself was that when I ate Zay's cookie, I thought it tasted good."
"Liar!" Cory shouted (like he always did).
"Liar?" Riley asked.
"Liar! I know there's one more, and I can't wait until you figure it out!"
"Dad, how can you possibly know my memories better than I do? I think I know my own mind."
"And I think, as your father, I know it just as well. What are you thinking about right now?"
"Well, if you knew my mind that well, would you really have to…?"
"Two little doves carrying a pink frosted doughnut in their little beaks across the New York City skyline."
"How do ya do it? I wanna know!"
Cory and Topanga shared another one of those laughs that Riley feared she'd never share with anyone (besides Maya). Topanga looked her daughter right in the eye.
"Riley, your father knows what he's doing with this assignment," she said. "He figured if you never came around to it on your own, maybe it was his job to help you out."
Riley turned to Cory.
"You couldn't just let me write a report about Hidden Figures, could you?"
"Oh, no," Cory said. "This is way more fun."
Riley sat in the bay window after dinner and waited. She never called or texted Maya, asking her if she could come over that night. She just waited. Maya had a way of coming to her in exactly the right moment – always had.
Just like on cue, Maya slid in through the window and took her seat, just like she always had. The girls didn't say anything for awhile, and then, Riley spoke.
"Peaches?" she asked.
"Yeah, Honey?"
"How are you coming along on my dad's assignment? Have you figured out a memory of yours that you took out and revised to make it fit what you thought it needed to fit?"
To Riley's surprise, Maya nodded.
"What?" Riley asked. "I just figured you'd skip this one."
"See, that's where you're wrong," Maya said. "This assignment was all too easy for me. In fact, it was so easy, I knew that this time, I really couldn't be the point of Matthews' lesson."
"What did you pick?"
Maya sighed. It had been two years since her mom had married Shawn, who had since adopted her. It didn't mean the past was any easier to talk about, even in the sanctity of that bay window.
"When I was younger, I used to pretend like I thought my mom drove men away with her crazy," Maya said. Her voice was slow and purposeful. Riley wondered what she sounded like, and then it hit her. Maya sounded like a grown-up.
"Really?" Riley asked.
"Yeah. I don't know why, but I did. I think it was easier to think that there was something one of us could control. And you know all about that."
Riley chuckled a little, thinking back to health class in the ninth grade during the week that girl decided she didn't like her.
"But I knew it wasn't exactly true," Maya said. "I knew that she got left just the same as I did – just the same as Shawn did. I just didn't want to believe it."
"What do you mean?"
Maya sighed again. This time, it was even quieter and more restrained, like she didn't want to say the next thing and probably wouldn't have if the power of the bay window hadn't compelled her.
"I didn't want to believe that I come from people who would just leave like that," Maya finally said. "I didn't want to believe that any more than I wanted to believe I come from people who just … get abandoned."
Riley moved closer to Maya and swept her up in a hug. This was it, she figured. Of all the memories she'd never take out and revise, it would be any of the memories she shared with Maya. They were perfect, even when they weren't.
"You know who you are now, don't you, Peaches?" Riley asked. Her voice was so little. She didn't sound like a grown-up at all. Shouldn't she have sounded like a grown-up?
Maya nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "It took some time, but I think I've got all the basics figured out."
"What about me?"
"You don't know who you are?"
"Well, of course I don't know all that. I'm thinking about my memories. Have I taken any of them and messed with them? Why can't I think of any?"
"Wait, you really can't think of what your dad wants you to get out of this?"
"I don't think there's anything, Maya. I think you were right before."
Maya stopped. This was the second time in relatively recent memory wherein she'd known something about Riley that Riley didn't even know – or didn't want to know. It killed her to keep secrets from Riley, but this wasn't one she could just blurt out. This was one Riley had to figure out for herself. Of course, that didn't mean that Maya couldn't nudge her in the right direction. After all, Riley had spent so much of their lives doing that for her. It seemed only fair that Maya could now repay the favor.
"Riles," she said. "Let me ask you something."
"Anything."
"Do you still have that boot?"
Riley laughed as she took the memory out. It was from middle school, when she still had a massive crush on Lucas. He and Maya had come through the bay window to sit together and talk about what to do now that they knew Farkle was being bullied. When Cory had realized that Lucas was in his daughter's room, Lucas flew out the window, and all Cory could hold onto was his boot. Riley kept that boot until the summer after ninth grade when she and Lucas had broken up on the stairs leading down to Topanga's. She'd been ready then, but it was fun to take the memory out and visit it like an old friend.
"No, of course not," Riley said. "You know that. Besides, wouldn't it be weird if I kept something of your boyfriend's?"
"Oh, it'd be more than weird, and we'd need to have a conversation," Maya said. "But that's not the point. You got rid of the boot because you were finally over Lucas. And after that …"
"And after that what? What, Maya? It's been two years, and I've never had another boyfriend. What does getting rid of the boot have to do with revising my own history?"
"It doesn't. Not, like, perfectly, anyway. But a little. You got over Lucas. Why do you think that is?"
Riley sat there with Maya in silence for a little while. She was hoping that the longer they stayed quiet, the louder the truth would become. Only the second the truth started to chant inside of her, she shut it down. She wasn't ready for that. How could Maya and her father have possibly believed she was ready for that?
She turned to Maya with panic in her eyes.
"What do you know?" she asked urgently.
"It doesn't matter," Maya said. "What do you know, Riley?"
Riley's gaze flickered over to her desk. There it was – her seventh-grade diary. Somehow, Riley knew that was the book that contained all the answers. She looked at Maya and didn't even have to say a word.
"I think you're right, Riles," Maya said. "The question is whether or not you have the guts to read it."
She started to climb back out the window, but before she did, she turned to Riley one more time.
"I think you do," Maya said. "And I think you owe it to yourself to remember what's in there. What's really in there."
And before Riley could say another word, Maya was out the window and down the fire escape.
Dear Diary,
How are you doing today? Maya just looked over my shoulder and said I shouldn't ask you how you're doing today because you're just an empty book of blank pages and have no feelings to speak of. But I don't accept that so I'm going to ask you again in even bigger, bolder letters.
HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY?
I hope you're well. Tonight was the CRAZIEST. It was our school's production of Romeo and Juliet, and it couldn't have been more perfect. I was Juliet, and my fair Lucas was Romeo. But when my DAD walked into play practice, he RUDELY decided that the final scene, where Lucas is SUPPOSED to kiss my poisoned lips, that the scene needed something else. So he asked Farkle to stand in the back of the tomb and play the spear-carrier. That's ridiculous! What tomb needs to be protected by a spear-carrier? Wouldn't he just die down there anyway? But Farkle took it sooooo seriously. He took it so seriously that he ruined the play by trying to kiss me!
But now that Maya's gone, and she's not reading over my shoulder anymore, I can tell you the truth. I don't think Farkle ruined the play. He's not a good actor or anything, even though I told him he was, but a little white lie to spare someone's feelings can't hurt. But I don't think he ruined the play. Sure, I wanted to kiss Lucas, and now, maybe I'll never get the chance … though I won't lose all hope just yet. But I thought it was kind of funny and sweet that Farkle wanted to stop the whole play just so he could kiss me. I don't want him to be my boyfriend or anything. He's my friend, and even though he says he's loved me since first grade, that doesn't change anything. It's still nice to think that somebody out there loves somebody so much that they'd interrupt a whole play just to have a moment with the person they love. I guess it's kind of sweet to know that for Farkle, that person is me.
Don't tell Maya.
Riley closed the diary and wrinkled her nose. She'd almost forgotten about Romeo and Juliet and Farkle. Since her first kiss with Lucas on the subway at the end of seventh grade, the triangle, and Maya winding up with Lucas after all, she'd been a little distracted. She almost felt like she'd betrayed Farkle for almost forgetting about the seventh-grade play. Of course, at this point, what did Farkle care? She thought back to his unceremonious divorce of both her and Maya when they were in the eighth grade. It had happened in the bay window after he realized he wanted to go after Isadora Smackle after all. But time had passed through Smarkle, too. At the end of the tenth grade, Smackle had broken it off with Farkle for, according to Riley, reasons unknown. The reason they were reasons unknown was because Farkle wouldn't tell her. It drove her crazy. Farkle always told her everything … except this. It was like he didn't remember what he'd told her in the eighth grade.
We don't lie to each other, Riley. Friends don't lie to each other.
And that was why she was even more perplexed by the last sentence she wrote in that particular diary entry. Don't tell Maya. Since when did she think it was OK to keep secrets from Maya? She called Maya every time she found a unique booger in her tissue just to talk to her about it. What was it about what she had written that was so serious she felt like she (and her diary – for all Riley knew, she could have been instructing her diary not to become sentient and talk to Maya before Riley could do it herself. That was a very Riley Matthews thing to do.) couldn't tell Maya everything about it?
Why did it feel like Maya already knew anyway?
She thought about reading more of her diary, but she couldn't. Something was keeping her from it. She put the diary on the desk again. That way, it was in sight if she wanted to pick it up again, but it was far enough away from her so she could pretend like it never existed.
What was on that next page, anyway? Why didn't she remember? Why was there a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she did?
Why didn't she want to come up with the right answer for her own revisionist history?
She tucked herself into bed and dreamt vividly that night … only she wanted to pretend she'd dreamt of something much different than the spring formal one year earlier.
It's April, and spring has come surprisingly early for the East Coast. Riley is trying not to feel like a pity date even though she knows she is one. Zay asked her to the spring formal after realizing that it wouldn't be fair to make Riley go on her own, what with Maya-and-Lucas and Farkle-and-Smackle. She was having a nice time with her friend, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same as having a date.
She'd never had the best of luck with dates to her school dances. In eighth grade, she'd turned down both Lucas and Charlie Gardner (if not accidentally). In ninth grade, she and Lucas had been all set to attend the spring formal, but then, she had to go and break her leg after falling down the stairs at school. Lucas was right – the weird undefined area between the two floors wasn't some special place. It was cursed. Now that it was tenth grade, and she had no boyfriend to speak of, she wondered if maybe she wasn't supposed to have fun at school dances.
But then Farkle comes around. Smackle is trying to convince the DJ to let her play the Theremin, but the DJ won't let her. Either way, Farkle's got some time to kill, and who better to kill it with than Riley? He taps her on the shoulder, and she spins around and gives him that little "Farkle" smile she doesn't even realize she's spent the last ten years of her life perfecting.
"Farkle," she says, not realizing how melodic she makes such a silly name sound. "What are you doing over here? Shouldn't you be with Smackle?"
"Smackle's got some business to take care of with the DJ," Farkle says.
"Theremin?"
"Theremin. I think she's gonna win this time."
Riley laughs. It wasn't particularly funny, but there was something about Farkle that had always made her want to giggle. It wasn't that she was mocking him – never. It was something else. It had always been there, but now … now it made less sense than ever.
"So, I was thinking," Farkle says. "Before Smackle gets her way, and we end up dancing to a B-movie soundtrack she composed all on her own, maybe you'd like to dance with me?"
Riley furrows her brow, half flattered and half confused.
"Won't Smackle feel upset if you dance with another girl?" she asks.
"Won't Zay feel upset if you dance with another guy?"
"That's different. Zay knows I'm just his pity date. You and Smackle are a real thing."
"I don't think she'll mind if we have this dance, Riley."
"How do you know that?"
Farkle doesn't answer (mostly because he doesn't have an answer). He just offers his hand to Riley, and she doesn't think. She just takes it.
"I requested a song for you," he says.
"What?"
"You heard me. It should start playing in about …"
The song begins. It doesn't sound very familiar to Riley, but it seems like the kind of over-the-top, a-little-bit-old songs that Maya's mother likes to sing along to on the radio. She's about to ask what it is, but then, she hears the lyrics.
"'Lady …"
She smirks. She knows exactly where Farkle must be going with this.
"You know why I picked this song, don't you?" he asks.
"In honor of the way you used to come in through the bay window and say, 'Ladies!' Right?"
Farkle laughs and nods. His hands are on Riley's hips, but he keeps her at an arm's length. Riley notices and feels some kind of way about it, though she pretends she doesn't. It's easier that way. It's always easier to step back and pretend you don't feel what you really feel. When you open up like a Riley, you always get hurt. Riley is so tired of feeling hurt.
"I wanted you to know that no matter what happens," he says, his eyes flickering over to Maya and Lucas in another corner of the school gym, "you're always a lady to me."
Riley refuses to recognize what's going on. She knows Farkle shouldn't say that – not when Smackle is there, and she looks so pretty in her blue dress. She knows it's uncalled for. She knows it's not nice, and there's nothing Riley Matthews likes more than when everyone is nice to everyone else. But she knows better now – maybe it's worse to know better, but she's wiser since she learned to argue the opposition a year earlier. She knows Farkle shouldn't talk to her like a lady when he's only supposed to talk to Smackle that way. But there's a red sparkly part of her that likes it. There's a red sparkly part of her that wants Farkle to say it again.
It feels like their dance may never ends. Riley never says another word to him as they dance with one another for the next two and a half minutes. There's swaying and jokey head banging, and it feels like they're the only two people in the gym – maybe the world, though the world has always scared her more than it, perhaps, should. But she never says another word to him. She can't do it. She's afraid of what will happen if she does. The red sparkly parts of her soul seem to be on fire, and she doesn't understand them. Her father's history lessons never prepared her for this. What was going on, anyway?
The song ends, and though she tries to say something to Farkle, she doesn't get the chance. She hears the sound of George Gershwin's "Summertime" over the speakers, only it's spooky as can be. Sure enough, there's Isadora Smackle, beaming from ear to ear, playing the Theremin for all of Abigail Adams High to hear. Before she can say a word to Farkle, he's gone to cheer her on.
And then, Riley woke up. It wasn't like her to dream in memories. She blamed her father's assignment. As she got ready for school that day, she couldn't help but wonder.
What was Farkle's revisionist history?
It was time for her father's class again. Riley knew that if she caught a lucky break (and in her father's class, she almost always did), she wouldn't have to present on her revisionist history that day because she had no idea what to say. Luckily, very early into the class period, Cory called on Lucas to share his bit of revisionist history.
"Of course, sir," Lucas said. "But I don't think you're gonna like it very much."
"Little tip, Mr. Friar," Cory said. "If somebody starts to tell you something, and you tell them they're not going to like it …"
"It puts them in a place to automatically dislike it?"
"It gives you a good reason to run away and never come back."
"Why don't you just tell him, Huckleberry?" Maya asked. "I think you'll be surprised."
"And I think I like keeping both of my boots on my feet," Lucas said.
"Would you rather be Ranger Two Boots or Ranger F-on-His-Report-Card?"
Then, Lucas, without missing a beat: "So, I purposely misremembered how I met your daughter on the subway all those years ago."
He threw his hands over his face as though to block Cory's wrath and slowly lowered them in confusion when nothing happened. Cory was just standing there at the front of the room, pleasantly looking straight ahead at Lucas like he kind of expected what he had just said. How did he do that? How did he always just know?
"Did you?" Cory asked in that tone of voice that told everyone he'd known about this for a long time – possibly even forever.
"I always used to say that Riley fell into my lap on the subway, but I know that's not exactly true," Lucas said. "I knew all along that Maya pushed her. I knew all along that Maya had been stepping back for Riley. I think I made the triangle last for as long as it did for no good reason."
He threw his hands up in his face defensively one more time and was still shocked when no one came after his head. Cory was still standing up at the board, smiling like he'd known what Lucas was going to say for years before he said it.
"Thank you, Mr. Friar," Cory said. "I have some follow-up questions."
Lucas went to cover his face again, but Maya wouldn't let him.
"If you protect that pretty little face of yours one more time, I swear," she said.
"I'm protecting it for you!"
"Keep tellin' yourself that, Miss America."
"I thought you'd forgotten about that."
"I don't forget anything."
"I found three pairs of your shoes in my house just yesterday," Cory said.
"Except those. I forget those."
Lucas turned back to Cory and shifted around awkwardly in his desk.
"Ask away, sir," he said. "I'm ready."
"What made you want to revise that memory of meeting Riley on the subway?" Cory asked.
Riley turned around in her seat to face Lucas. She flashed him a grin that told him everything was going to be OK. The truth was that she'd revised her memory of their first meeting long ago, too. She'd revised it and then remembered it correctly again. Though she didn't quite know how Lucas was going to answer her father's question about why he'd purposely misremembered their first encounter, she had a good feeling about what he was going to say. After all, she knew him like a sister knows a brother, and she knew that now.
"I think I figured it was supposed to be me and Riley," Lucas said. "We're so much alike. Back in Texas, my Pappy Joe used to say 'Birds of a feather flock together.' I kinda thought the same would apply to me and Riley."
"And it does," Riley chimed in. "We are so much alike. We do flock together. We just don't … lay eggs together."
The whole class let out a collective, "Eww!"
Riley put her head down on her desk in shame.
"Well, I didn't know what else to say!" she said.
"It was scary to think I might have to go after the unexpected," Lucas said. "So … I went with the place I thought I needed to go. It was easier to believe that Riley fell into my lap than it was to believe someone pushed her."
"Nice example, Lucas," Cory said. He turned to Riley.
"Riley?" he asked.
"Mine, too!" Riley said, slamming her fists down on the desk with righteous indignation. "That one's mine, too! I wanted to believe I fell into Lucas's lap on the subway because I thought he needed to be my Topanga!"
"First of all, there is only one Topanga," Cory said, still believing his wife could hear her name from miles away. "Second of all, that can't be your example, Riley. You figured that one out way too long ago for it to count."
"What do you want from me?" Riley asked, though it was a little more like a whine.
"Farkle!" Cory said, and Riley jumped. It took her a little longer than it should have to notice that Cory was calling on Farkle to speak.
"Yes, sir?" Farkle asked.
"What about you? What's your revisionist history?"
Farkle cleared his throat. He hadn't been sure of what to say and how to say it, but now, it was better out than internalized forever.
"I thought a long time about what I was going to say about my revisionist history," he said. "At first, I thought I'd talk about how I learned that my great grandfather was Jewish, and he narrowly escaped the Holocaust after being adopted by a Christian family. I thought I'd talk about how my family had revised that history so that people like my dad and me would never find out the truth, like it was too hard for us to bear. And it is hard for us to bear. It scared the life out of me when I found out."
"And why isn't that what you chose to tell us about, Farkle?" Cory asked.
"Because even though it's part of my story, they're not my memories," Farkle said. "I didn't make them and play with them to suit my own needs. Someone else did, and that changed the way I learned how to see myself – and then see myself again. So, I had to think of something else."
"What did you come up with?"
It felt like an eternity between Cory's question and Farkle's answer. Just as Riley was about to step in and defend him, Farkle spoke again.
"I lied when I said I would always love Riley and Maya equally," he said. "At first, I meant it, but over time … well, over time, that changed. Around seventh grade, I started to think about one of them differently."
Riley felt herself begin to blush as she turned to the side to face Farkle. His eyes were already fixed on her.
"What?" she asked. "Farkle, what do you mean? You've always loved me and Maya equally. We're your sun and moon. We keep you balanced."
"I know that, Riley, and it's always been true," Farkle said. "That doesn't change the fact that when your father cast me as the spear-carrier in our seventh-grade production of Romeo and Juliet, I started to love you differently than I loved Maya."
"Farkle …"
"It wasn't that I loved Maya any less. I love you both. It was just … suddenly things were different when I was around you, Riley. I didn't know how to describe it, but I knew it wasn't equal anymore."
Riley wanted to say something, but once again, she found herself speechless. Why did that always happen? Why was she always speechless when it came to Farkle? He was just her friend. He'd always been …
"Wait," Riley said, interrupting her own thoughts. "Did you say that things changed for you during our seventh-grade production of Romeo and Juliet?"
"Yeah," Farkle said. "Or, as I like to call it, Romeo and Juliet and Farkle."
"I love that title!" Maya said.
Riley furrowed her brow again. She wasn't sure what to say, so Cory helped her out.
"Ms. Matthews?" he asked. "Are you ready to share your revisionist history yet?"
She turned around to the front of the classroom and shook her head.
"No," she said. "Not just yet."
But that was a lie. Riley figured it out. She just couldn't believe this had been the whole point to the lesson. After all, she'd chosen to forget about it. How did her father remember it if she didn't?
Dear Diary,
Today Farkle tried out for the spring play. He says he was so bad that he isn't even allowed to watch the next the play. I expected him to be mad at me when he found out he's not a good actor, but he said I made him feel special. I like being able to make Farkle feel special. He's special to me.
Riley shut the diary one more time, leaving it on top of her desk where she could still see it if she decided she was ready. But how could she ever be ready? She'd spent so long trying to deny it. She'd spent years trying to forget it ever happened. Even in the moment that it did, she told herself it didn't mean anything. Why did it mean something now? What changed? Did anything change?
And then, in some cruel twist of fate, Farkle came in through the bay window.
She hadn't invited him, but like Maya, he had a standing invitation through the bay window whenever he saw fit. Of course, Riley had a feeling that was all about to change. This, however, was only on the condition of her ability to be as brave as she used to be.
"Hey," Farkle said. "Thought I'd come check on you."
"What for?" Riley asked.
"You seemed kind of freaked out about what I said in history class today, about my revisionist history. If it would make you feel better, Riley, I'd take it all back. Except I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I've never failed an assignment in my life, and I'm not planning to start now, when college applications are just around the corner. But more importantly because it's the truth. And I think you know how important it can be to tell certain pieces of the truth."
Riley remembered the talking tater tot on her shoulder and wondered if Farkle could see it, too. After all, he was such a strange goose, it seemed possible.
"Do you really want to know why I freaked out?" Riley asked. She was surprised with the bluntness of her own question. She'd come so far – was finally brave enough to take off the Smiley Riley when the moment called for it.
"Yeah," Farkle said. "I think I would like to know."
Riley took a deep breath.
"Do you remember when we went to the movies right before midterms last year?" Riley asked. "Right before school let out for winter break."
"Of course I remember, Riley," Farkle said. "It was the day we saw that horrible movie."
"Farkle, The Last Jedi was not a horrible movie."
"You try building up a villain to rival the great Emperor Palpatine for two years only for Han and Leia's own Donnie Barnes of a son to draw and quarter him with no explanation. Horrible movie!"
She smiled her little "Farkle" smile at him. This time, she caught herself, and her lips formed a straight line once more.
"Well, do you remember when we went to Topanga's after the movie?" she asked. "You bought me a bulochki, even though I told you not to, and we pretended…?"
"Yeah," Farkle cut Riley off. His voice was thick and filled with something that Riley didn't like. Maybe it was regret. "Yeah. I remember."
It comes surprisingly late for both Riley and Farkle – that hormonal telegram that Riley's father and Uncle Eric had warned her about for years. She kept waiting to receive it. She kept waiting to feel different. But she had just turned sixteen, and now, all she felt was nothing. It's disappointing, she thinks. She wants to be a grown-up like Maya and Lucas. Even Smackle seems more mature than Riley at this point. And then, when she least expects it, it happens. It happens for both of them.
It's December 2017, and Riley is trying to convince Farkle that The Last Jedi isn't nearly as bad as he thinks it is. Farkle is seething, throwing out phrases like, "Leia can't Mary Poppins her way back onto the ship like that!" and "Why spend all this time suggesting that Rey and Kylo Ren are related only for Rey to be some random chick from a desert planet?"
"But, Farkle," Riley says. "Don't you remember where the story started? Luke was just some random guy from a desert planet."
"Except he wasn't. He was Darth Vader's son. Princess Leia's brother. I swear, if they don't go back and make Rey related to Emperor Palpatine or something …"
"You want Rey to be related to scary Emperor Palpy? With his scary lighting out of his finger tips and his mean wrinkly face?"
"It would make sense. It would explain why she was able to beat Kylo Ren in the forest with his own family's lightsaber, and it would explain all the jabbing motions she made with it. Nobody in the whole Star Wars universe fights like that but Emperor Palpatine. It's brilliant!"
"Well, I think it's mean. I don't want to believe that anyone as sweet and as strong as Rey could come from someone so nasty and terrible."
Farkle smiles. Even though he's known her since the first grade, he's still enchanted by Riley's ability to root for good, no matter how seductive the dark side could get. She has a point, of course. There's nothing seductive about Emperor Palpatine. Maybe she's right. How could someone as wrinkly and awful have a child and create Rey? He makes a mental note to scratch that idea.
"Well, even you have to admit," Farkle says. "If they're going for some sort of romance between Rey and Kylo Ren, it's not a good idea."
"How can they have the nerve to pair Rey with someone who violated her mind like that?" Riley asks. The genuine horror in her voice reminds Farkle of what a tender person she really is … how lucky he is to know someone like her … no. He's lucky to know Riley Matthews in particular. She doesn't know it yet, but she's the only one of herself out there. There have never been two.
"Exactly," Farkle says. "I mean, what was that scene where they slowly touched hands? Like …"
So, with their goofiest faces on, he and Riley mimic the infamous moment between the two characters. They slowly extend their hands to one another, trembling at the prospect of the touch, but not because they're make believing in some role. They're shaking because they're about to touch each other's hands. Part of Riley is scared and wants to pull back … doesn't want to know what it will feel like to touch Farkle's hand this time … knows it will be much different this time already. But she doesn't recoil. She would rather know how it feels than to spend the rest of her life wondering, and she knows herself. She is a wonderer.
Their fingertips touch, and there it is. Their goofy faces melt away. She understands. She understands what Maya means when she raises her eyebrows at Lucas. She understands what Al Green means when he sings "Let's Stay Together." She understands why everyone giggles at the scene in The Lion King when Nala looks at Simba like that. She understands the pottery scene from Ghost.
He looks at her, and she realizes he might understand some of the same things. She expects him to recoil. She expects herself to recoil. But they don't. They just sit there like that, touching hands, understanding.
And then, slowly, they withdraw.
Riley felt tears begin to sting in her eyes as she continued to talk to Farkle. She wasn't sure why she was crying. Maybe it was that it was the first time in a long time she remembered how to be this kind of brave. Maybe it was that she had the deepest feelings anyone had ever known. But there was something about Farkle in her room and the revisionist history assignment … and that fuzzy purple diary on her desk, staring at her, taunting her … something inside all of it made her want to cry.
"Riley, are you OK?" Farkle asked. His voice was quick. Urgent.
Riley nodded and wiped some of the tears that were starting to stream down her face.
"I didn't mean for this to be a sad visit," Farkle said. "Really, I just wanted to …"
"No," Riley said, surprising herself all over again. "You had Farkle time for years. It's Riley time now."
Farkle bit his lip to keep from chuckling at Riley. She always did know how to make him laugh.
"OK," he said. "It's Riley time from now on."
"I've been thinking about that day ever since it happened," Riley said. She noticed that her words were becoming slower and more purposeful, like Maya's had been the day before.
"You have?"
"Of course I have. Farkle, we might have been kidding around when we touched hands like that, but after it happened, things weren't the same. You know they weren't. We … we don't talk the way we used to since that day, and I want to know why."
Farkle looked down at the carpet. He brought his eyes up a little, but he still wouldn't meet Riley's gaze. He was too afraid of what she might say next.
"Riley, there are things you don't know," he said.
"Then tell me. We don't lie to each other, Farkle."
Farkle sighed, tasting his own tween-aged medicine.
"I know I told you that Smackle and I broke up for reasons unknown," he said, emphasizing the last phrase just as he had when he initially reported the break up to Riley. "But that's not true. At least, it's not true for me. I know exactly why Isadora turned me loose."
"Why?"
"Because I told her about what happened with you."
Riley's eyes widened. She couldn't lie to herself. She had kind of expected this. It didn't matter. There was a part of her that felt terrible – like her messing around with one of her oldest friends had led to the destruction of his happiness with another girl who'd always loved him differently than she had. She couldn't have known what was going to happen that day, but now that she did, there was a tiny part of her that wondered if maybe things would be easier if she hadn't reached out and touched his hand like that.
But there was a part of her that was glad. She thought back to her diary from the seventh grade and how she thought the world was a wonderful place because somebody loved somebody else so much, they'd ruin an entire play just to have their moment with their beloved. It wasn't nearly as generalized as she'd made it seem when she was just twelve years old. She'd meant it in no uncertain terms. She was glad she lived in a world where Farkle loved her so much, he'd ruin an entire play just to have his moment with her. Lucas had it right back then. The little guy stole his moment. And he just kept stealing it and stealing it and stealing it … until it was Farkle standing in her room, trying to get her to own up to her revisionist history, not Lucas at all.
"Farkle …" she started, but he cut her off. It was OK. His name was about all she could figure out how to say anymore.
"I had to, Riley," he said. "I'm a scientist, and we don't leave crucial evidence out of our experiments."
"So, your relationship with Smackle was just an experiment?"
"That's a dangerous metaphor when it comes to relationships, as I've learned from watching you all these years. But, yeah, kind of. For me, everything's an experiment. The world's all about testing new ideas and seeing how they work. Doesn't that sound like an experiment to you?"
Riley nodded. She couldn't help it. She loved how Farkle was the only person she'd ever known who knew how to make science sing like a sonnet.
"Smackle dumped me because she thought I was becoming compromised," Farkle said.
"And were you?"
Farkle didn't answer. He didn't have to. There was no one in the world who could read his thoughts better than Riley Matthews, even when she was trying so hard to shut them off.
A few moments passed. Farkle hadn't moved a muscle, and Riley wondered why. She wondered if he came here looking for something. She wondered if, perhaps, she was the key to whatever it was he was looking for. She wouldn't budge, of course. After all these years of learning from Maya and Topanga, she'd learned how to be at least a little stubborn.
Her eyes flickered over to the diary on her desk again. This time, she wasn't quite so afraid of it. She walked over to the desk, picked up the diary, hugged it tightly to her chest, and walked back over to face Farkle.
"I think I owe you an apology, Farkle," Riley said.
"What for, mamacita?" Farkle asked.
Riley had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling. She thought back to Mr. Norton's science class in the eighth grade when Farkle had called her mamacita for the first (and, until that point, only) time. She wondered if he remembered, too.
She took a deep breath (one that felt like it could be her last), and she opened her diary to exactly the page she needed.
"I owe you an apology because you're part of my revisionist history," she said.
She curved her hand and waved him over so that he could read over her shoulder, exactly as Maya used to do. He looked, and he read.
One thing I know I have to tell you, Diary, is a thing I wish I didn't have to tell you. But I'm more honest than Abe himself (Dad would like that one!), and I have to write it down. After Farkle told me that I made him feel special when I lied and said he was a good actor, HE KISSED ME! He really only got my chin, so as I told Maya, he missed. But she has a good point. Today was my first kiss, and it was with Farkle. I thought I wanted it to be with Lucas, but it wasn't. It was Farkle. When he was done, I acted like I was disgusted. But I think I was just surprised. I didn't know Farkle could pull something like that off, even if he is the biggest flirt in seventh grade. I acted like it was gross. Part of it was. I mean, he kissed my chin. But I don't think I mind that my first kiss was Farkle. I think it was meant to be.
Farkle looked at Riley, trying to convey everything he felt about that short little diary entry in just one expression on his face. He loved her so much. He'd loved her since the first grade, but in that moment, he loved her more than ever. It wasn't just that she thought their first kiss was meaningful after all, though that certainly did a lot to help mend his ego. It was that she was willing to share it with him. It was that she wasn't going to let them both go through life as though there was nothing between them. She knew there was, and he was grateful. As it turned out, both of them were tired of keeping their own secret from themselves. Farkle just never figured that Riley would be the one to break. It had been years since Billy Ross called him the biggest nothing in school, but the residual effects were strong. Even if he had a sneaking suspicion that Riley felt what he felt, too, that tiny little nothing part of him figured he was out of his mind. He was too glad to see that he wasn't.
"A long time ago, I decided I liked the new boy in school," Riley said. "He was cute, and I was a girl. I thought I was the center of the universe. But I wasn't. We weren't. None of us were. But while I was kidding myself, I told myself a lie. I don't really know why. I don't like to lie."
"I remember the Tell-Tale Tot," Farkle said, and Riley laughed.
"I'm serious, Farkle," she said. "I lied to myself for years. I told myself – I told everyone around me – that Lucas was my first kiss. That night on the subway when you were supposed to go on your first date with Maya."
"And thank goodness that didn't happen."
"Farkle. I told myself and everyone around me that my first kiss was with Lucas, but that wasn't true. It's never been true. For as long as I've been on this earth as a woman who's been kissed, my first kiss has always been you."
And even though he knew it was the truth, Farkle blushed like it was the first time he was ever hearing the story.
"You're part of my revisionist history," Riley said. "And for that, I think I owe you an apology."
Farkle swallowed hard. He wasn't sure where to go from there. He was a man of science, and even though Riley had done so much in teaching him how to feel (and feel so deeply), he was lost. He never thought it would come to this – not really. He especially didn't expect Riley to be the one to come to him. But there they were. And he wasn't going to let her get away this time. This wasn't the geek party or the semi-formal or Mount Sun Ski Lodge.
It was Riley time from now on.
"You don't owe me an apology, Riley," he said. "I know you never really forgot that I kissed you after the play back in seventh grade. You just … preferred to think your first kiss was with Mr. Freak Face."
Riley laughed a little. She got closer to Farkle. It felt more natural with every step. The rest of her father's lesson that day had been spot on. Once revisionist history was out in the open, and the historians explored the narratives that had been silenced for much too long, everything felt better. Everything breathed differently. Riley breathed differently.
"I'm sorry, Farkle," Riley said. "I should have never pretended like my first kiss was with anyone but you. You're someone I'm proud to have kissed first."
"Oh, yeah?" Farkle asked.
"Of course."
"Well, if that's true, would you let me do it again?"
Riley turned bright pink, and Farkle bit his lip again to keep from laughing. Riley had the cutest reactions. He couldn't wait to see more of them.
"Farkle," Riley finally said. "I never figured you'd be that bold."
"I've been climbing through your bay window since I was six years old. Of course I'm that bold. Now, answer the question, Riley. Would you let me kiss you again?"
Riley cocked her head to the side and smiled that little "Farkle" smile of hers. This time, she let it turn into a full-on grin. She noticed how he relaxed, and she realized that was her favorite sight in the world – Farkle, at peace with himself and the world she was sure he'd rule one day, after all.
"Hmm," she said.
"Hmm?" Farkle pressed. "What does that mean? I thought we were inevitable!"
Riley chuckled. She was too much Riley to keep up the charade for much longer. She was too excited to find out what was going to happen next … how that next thing would make her feel. She already felt that dizzying kind of great she used to only feel after spinning around the living room with her arms open like an airplane. She hoped it would only get better from there.
"Farkle," she said.
"What?"
"Don't miss."
And as Farkle grabbed Riley's face in his hands, pushed her hair back behind her ears, and locked eyes with her in a way he hadn't since what felt like forever, he didn't.
That is certainly a story! I had a lot of fun writing it, even if there are places where I say to myself, "Oh! You could have done more there! Why didn't you say more about this thing? Why are the tones so drastically different from the classroom scenes to the bay window scenes?" There's a lot I could say here, but the main takeaway was that this story was just too enjoyable to write. I've been binging episodes of Girl Meets World on Disney Plus, and I'm still bitter that we didn't get a chance to see these characters grow up/see Riarkle become a genuine thing as older teenagers or college students. This story is my response to some of that resentment that we will never know The Truth.
This story is definitely out of my wheelhouse, as I normally write in a big, sprawling AU for The Outsiders. If you follow me for The Outsiders, I hope this was an acceptable break in the content. I'm not sure I'll visit Girl Meets World again, but I'm not exactly closing the door on the series, either. There's too much left unsaid, even after (especially after) a premature ending.
Disney owns both Girl Meets World and Star Wars. I allude to the songs "Lady" by Styx and "Let's Stay Together" by Al Green. I claim no ownership anywhere. I own this comfortable sweater, and that is about it.