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“I got you a pin for your jean jacket!” Riley beams, fastening the brooch onto Maya’s denim jacket. It’s a daisy, white and yellow, with golden edges, the colours vibrant because of the gold linings. Not something Maya would naturally pick for herself, but she likes it – and she likes knowing Riley saw something and thought of her.
Maya looks at herself in the mirror, at the way the brooch sits, straight and not crooked. “It’s cute,” she says. You’re cute, she thinks.
“I knowww, isn’t it?” Riley gushes. “The moment I saw it I just knew you had to have it! Like a lucky charm. Or a friendship bracelet! I still have the one you gave me last year.”
Maya remembers. You are my sunshine, the bracelet had said. “Yeah?” she asks, voice soft.
“Mmhm! I don’t wear it that often, because the string’s a little worn out, and I don’t want it to break, but Dad and I were looking at how we could restore it,” Riley says, grinning, and Maya smiles back, feeling warm the way she always does when confronted with the knowledge that Riley wants to hold onto her. That Riley wants her to stay.
They’d made it a point to match nail polish. Sparkly purple as a sort of compromise between the dark maroon or black that Maya would’ve chosen contrasting with the lighter, softer pastel tones Riley favoured. Purple was middle ground, sparkly and dark enough to satisfy Maya, but dreamy enough to satisfy Riley.
In the car, on the way to the theatre, a song Riley knows but Maya’s not heard yet comes on, and Maya watches her best friend sing along, boisterously, childishly, joyfully excited. If Maya knew the lyrics, she’d likely be doing the same – if Maya knew the song, they would’ve had a dance routine in place for it already, but they don’t. They’re both in the backseat, Riley looking at Maya and Maya looking at Riley and Cory driving them, sighing with no weight to it.
I hope nothing changes, Maya thinks, but doesn’t dare say. And in the theatre, watching the movie, their hands brush over the popcorn bowl and both she and Riley look away from the screen at the same moment, to see their hands pressed against each other over the popcorn, their nails matching perfectly.
Maya keeps looking at Riley even as Riley’s attention is captured again by the movie. We belong to each other, she thinks. We’re made of the same stuff, from the same star. She tells herself to be brave, and reaches out, twining their hands together.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Maya asks again, but it’s a formality more than anything else. Riley’s affirmed at least five times, and the look she gives Maya states clearly enough that she hasn’t changed her mind since then. She nods, giving Maya a little smile, and Maya smiles back.
It’s easy, to do her favourite gothic, heavy, intense, “hardcore” make-up on Riley, who sits ever so still under Maya’s touch, face angling towards her with easy trust, so genuinely and kindly given. This is Maya’s characteristic look, with the blended colours over the eyes, the sharpest highlights over the cheekbones, the dark reddish brown of lipstick that she subtly applies a purple tint to, for Riley. It’s easy to do a look like this one, but it’s intimate, too much so, like she’s giving something deeply personal to her best friend.
Riley’s eyes blink open eventually, and she gets up, flouncing off with a smile. Maya doesn’t even have time to feel bereft before Riley returns from her wardrobe, wearing a leather jacket and spiky choker, stumbling in heels that she’s obviously not used to wearing.
Riley Matthews is a dork, and Maya loves her so much.
“Ta-da!” Riley beams. “How do I look?”
It takes Maya’s breath away. She says the only thing she can think to say. “Like you’re my girl.”
“Oh,” Riley says, soft and reverent. And then she’s grinning, wider still. “But Maya, I am your girl.”
“Yeah?” Maya asks.
Riley nods. “Yeah.”