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❛ ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ & ʟᴀᴄᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚  ▎❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴡɪɴɴᴇʀs ᴠs ʟᴏsᴇʀs ꒱


❝ THANK YOU FOR
 ACCEPTING ME EXACTLY
AS I AM ❞

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"Buenos días chicas, tomen asiento," Ms. Feinstein-Chang greeted her students.

They all did as she instructed and took their seats, with Maya, Riley and Miya (in that order) claiming the middle row. Riley paused just before she sat down, announcing, "Spanish class. I just love this class. I wish it was in English."

"Roberta. . . Español solamente," their teacher requested.

The brunette put her hands on her hips and gave her a blank stare. "What are you trying to accomplish?"

"She wants us to only speak in Spanish," Maya translated for her.

She adopted a strange sort of accent that didn't belong in any culture, but it had a lilting quality to it that she was clearly trying to make work. "T-Today I ham ha-wearing sandals."

Ms. Feinstein-Chang's lips pursed at her terrible attempt. "Roberta."

"That's my name in here!" the Matthews girl exclaimed brightly.

"Roberta! Spanish only!"

Maya smiled and leaned forward conspiratorially, speaking in surprisingly fluent Spanish: "la ayudará, Señora Feinstein-Chang."

"Le agradecería, Maya," the older woman conceded with a sigh.

Riley pouted at the only word she recognized: her best friend's name. "Why do you get to stay Maya and Miya and I have to change our names?"

"Because Maya's an actual Spanish name," Maya answered.

"Well, then, what's Riley?" she wanted to know, leaning her chin on her hands petulantly.

Maya turned around in her seat to face her. "A trick to make us all think you're cute."

That made the other girl beam happily again as she declared, "I'm Riley."

Maya nodded as Riley proved her point. "You did it. I wanna squoosh your face."

Miya cringed. "Please don't squoosh my face."

The blonde's gaze flicked past Riley's shoulder to land on her. "Don't worry, I'll leave that to Farkle."

Miya was more than glad when their teacher called their attention back to her. "Buenos días, clase. Yo tengo las primeras para volver a ustedes." She came out from behind her desk with a pile of papers on her hand and began to return them to the students. As she gave Maya's back to her, she complimented the younger girl, "buen trabajo."

Riley leaned over her best friend's shoulder to peer at the bright red letter that marked the top of her page. Her eyes widened with hopeful anticipation as she queried eagerly, "ooh! Wait! Wait, what's that in English?"

Maya beamed proudly at her grade. "An A is an A wherever you go."

Riley lifted her arms and let out a loud cheer. "Yaaaaaay!"

"Spanish!" their teacher corrected her sharply.

The brunette quickly changed her shout to a long, drawn-out: "goooaaal!" Her excitement was quickly cut short as Ms. Feinstein-Chang gave her paper back. Her smile fell at the sight that greeted her. "A D?"

"Spanish!" came the reminder.

Riley sighed. "Ay-ay-ay."

Miya took her paper back with a quiet "gracias," pleased to see the B that was marked at the top. Foreign languages were, ironically, easier for her to learn (and especially read) than English since, in cases like Spanish, it was more phonetically accurate. 

🌎🌎🌎

"What? You're not sittin' with us anymore?" Maya called over to Riley. After school, the group had gone to Topanga's and claimed their usual spot but rather than join them, the brunette sat apart from them in a chair by herself on the other side of the room.

She looked off into the distance dramatically. "I don't deserve to sit with you guys. I am disgraced." She gestured to the torn piece of test paper she'd pinned to the front of her shirt. "D for disgraced."

Lucas glanced up from working on his homework to reassure her, "Riley, it's only one grade."

"Yeah, you know how many Ds I got in middle school?" Maya pointed out. "Once, I got five Ds in one day."

"You were Cinco D Maya," Zay quipped.

As the her friends laughed at the joke, Riley grumbled, "I don't get it."

"Actually, those Ds don't matter anymore, Maya," Farkle spoke up.

"None of our old grades do," Lucas agreed.

"We all start as equals here because only our high school grades count on our permanent record," Smackle explained.

Riley's eyes narrowed at this news. She stood up slowly and came closer to them. "What? What's that?"

"It's our high school transcript," Zay told her.

"It's what colleges use when they decide whether to accept you or not," Farkle added.

Smackle's eyes fell on the piece of paper Riley bore on her shirt. "And so far for you, not."

The brunette gave her a forced smile, wincing at the other girl's words. "Hm. Smackle, remember how you asked us to let you know when your refreshing honesty crosses over into. . ."

"Get to it, Bubbles!" the genius cut in.

"Now!"

Like Riley, Maya was less than pleased about this development. She scooted towards the edge of her seat and lifted a finger to interject, "wait, so they don't care about middle school?"

"They only look at your high school grades," Farkle confirmed.

He let out a startled yelp as Maya grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward so she was nose-to-nose with him. "Then why'd you make me go all this time?"

"Hey!" Miya protested, grabbing onto her boyfriend's arms to pull him away from the blonde.

He settled back down next to her looking a little startled from the unexpected 'attack.' Riley frowned, unmoved by her friend's sudden anger as she considered the other side of the coin. "Wait. So nobody cares about all the good grades I got when I was a kid?"

"They only care that you didn't eat paste," Zay remarked.

The brunette paused awkwardly. "Oh. . . uh, how long does that stay in you?"

"Boy, all those years I went to middle school I could've been scratchin' lottery tickets and chuggin' sody pop," Maya complained.

"Well, Maya, you finally hit the jackpot," Zay countered. "I mean, right now, you can go to any college you want."

"What about me?" Riley pouted.

Zay grinned at her. "You're her cute friend."

The brunette whimpered at the bleak future that response provided her with. "Please don't give up on me, college."

"Colleges don't only care about grades, you know," Lucas informed her.

"They care about extracurriculars," his best friend supplied.

Lucas smacked him lightly on the chest. "And that's why Zay and I are trying out for baseball"

"Since the football team made their feelings about us quite clear," the brunet muttered.

"It wasn't that bad," Lucas tried to argue.

Zay glowered at the memory. "It was! They hit us so hard."

"It's alright, baseball's our sport anyway," Lucas encouraged him.

"Yeah," he conceded. "Lucas was our star in middle school."

"What were you?" Smackle wondered.

Zay grinned similarly to the way he had for Riley as he echoed his earlier words, "I was his cute friend."

"I tried out for orchestra," Miya chimed in. "I think the results come out tomorrow."

Riley gave her a curious look. "But you auditioned ages ago. Didn't you have to send in a recording since you were overseas?"

"Well, yeah," the brunette stated with a shrug, "but these things take time. Hopefully I'll get in. I don't know what I'd do without music class."

"Of course you'll get in," Farkle declared immediately, causing her to flush slightly at the steadfast faith he had in her. "You're going to be their biggest star, just like I used to be."

"You're still a star," Miya refuted just as insistently.

He reached over to give her hand an appreciative squeeze and, to her happiness, continued to hold her hand once he had. "Yeah, but I used to be the North Star. I used to be the brightest star in the sky. What do you do when you realize you're not the smartest kid in school anymore?"

"I don't know," Riley sighed. She turned to her best friend. "Maya, what do you do when you realize your best days might have been in middle school?"

The blonde smirked at her. "I don't know. Why don't we ask my big, fat, honkin' A?" She lifted her test paper up and addressed it, "what do you do, A?" She put the paper to her ear as if it were a telephone and began to mumble, "uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh."

Riley leaned closer eagerly, her eyes filled with longing. "What'd it say? What'd it say?"

Maya ignored her and smiled at the test. "I know, right?"

"Shhh," Zay shushed the brunette. "Maya and A don't get to spend a lot of time together."

"Let's let them have their moment," Lucas suggested.

As the group got up to leave Maya alone with her paper, Miya heard her mutter, "oh, I don't know. Anywhere in the world as long as it's with you."

The Asian girl shook her head fondly at her friend's silliness. (Though, in all seriousness, she was glad that Maya seemed to finally be applying herself in the way Miya had always thought she could.)

🌎🌎🌎

Ever since he'd landed their family in a financial crises where it had been revealed to him that Farkle wished he could see his father more, Stuart made an effort to spend more time with his son. He believed that Farkle should have everything he needed and if he made it onto that list— well, he'd make sure his son got what he wanted. Stuart had to admit that, out of all the skills he possessed, parenting had been the hardest to come by. He wasn't a particularly emotional person which was pretty much the key factor in any parent-child relationship.

But, with most of his life being spent alone at work, he began to see the benefits human companionship afforded (especially when it didn't have the negative side effects that came from being around his wife.) He enjoyed talking to Farkle about his day and finding out what he learned in class. He liked talking to Miya, too, who was like a niece to him. Though she and Juliet didn't share a single drop of blood, he could still see Juliet's influence in how she acted.

He greeted the teens with a smile as they came out of the elevator and stepped into the kitchen, hating— as he always did— how surprised Farkle sounded when he exclaimed, "dad! You're home!"

"Of course I am," Stuart stated, trying to sound casual— like he wasn't affected by his son's lack of belief in him. "Where else would I be?"

He didn't miss the way Miya and Farkle exchanged a glance that wordlessly answered his question: in his office, under a mountain of blueprints and contracts. Where he had usually been before Farkle pointed out this particular parenting flaw. His eyes flicked over the counter where he'd brought work with him instead, papers spread out across the granite surface while his laptop sat open in front of him. But, instead of reaching for the computer to immerse himself in a far easier-to-understand world, he forced himself to keep his hands at his sides.

"It's nice seeing you here, Uncle Stuart," Miya responded instead.

"So. . ." he began, searching for a topic that would be of interest to them— just to keep them in the kitchen for a little longer— before landing on his go-to subject with an inward groan at his predictability. "How was school today? Anything worth bragging about?"

"Riley got a D!" Farkle burst out, not so much excited about his friend doing poorly than he was that he had something different to share with his father. "And Maya got an A. They're both pretty hung up on the change in roles."

"How much do you wanna bet that Riley's gonna turn this into a thing?" Miya mused teasingly.

"It's Riley," Farkle deadpanned. "Of course it's going to turn into a thing. What matters is how it's going to affect us. Which, for the record, I think it will."

"You do?" the brunette wondered, suddenly more serious.

"Not us-us," Farkle was quick to amend, gesturing between them. "I meant us." He waved his arm in a vague circle to denote their friend group. "I think there's going to be a trickle-down effect. People who usually do well, aren't, and vice versa."

"Interesting theory, son," Stuart commented, always willing to discuss a hypothesis. "How do you think it will affect you two, barring your actual relationship?"

Farkle slumped, seeming to deflate at his father's words. "It's already happening. I'm not the smartest kid in school anymore so that probably means Miya's going to get into orchestra. Which," he clarified firmly and hastily, "I will be very happy for you when you are."

The Asian girl felt her face heat up like it always did at his bold support. She ducked her head, trying to hide her fluster. Stuart recalled Juliet mentioning Miya practicing for her audition over the summer when they'd last talked on the phone. "I've heard you play," he reminded her, rather unnecessarily. "I may not be talented in that area, but I know genius when I see it. And believe me, Miya, that's a rare gift."

Her eyes widened at his words, the compliment catching her off guard. Farkle's grin widened too, proud that his father noticed something he'd been saying for years.

"Thanks, Uncle Stuart," she murmured, ducking her head again.

Farkle nudged her encouragingly. "See? I told you. You're going to get into orchestra and we're going to come to all of your concerts. Your mom will probably even come, too."

Miya made a face at that. "I don't think so. After everything that happened with he-who-shall-not-be-named, she's been scared off US soil for good unless there's some kind of family emergency."

The Minkuses exchanged an amused look at her nickname for Juliet's ex-boyfriend. Stuart's lips twitched at the corners. "He-who-shall-not-be-named?"

She shrugged. "It fits. Or I call him Shawn-the-Jerk. Anyway, she says she's happier in London anyway. More. . . predictable."

Stuart nodded, a bit sadly. "That sounds like her. Change makes her uneasy."

"Riley's kind of like her, then," Farkle remarked thoughtfully. "She's falling apart because she isn't the best anymore while Maya's just rolling with it because it feels better to succeed unexpectedly than to fail."

"Well," he started slowly, "if that's true, then what matters isn't the change itself. It's how you adapt to it. The ones who learn to bend will come out stronger."

"Like when you decide to work harder if you really want to retake the title of 'smartest kid in school,'" Miya pointed out, then added even more directly, "or when you realize it's okay not to be the smartest anymore."

"Exactly," Stuart confirmed. He clapped his hands together. "Now, I don't know about you, but philosophical discussions always make me hungry. Who wants takeout? My treat."

"Chinese?" Farkle suggested hopefully.

"Only if we can get extra dumplings," Miya put in quickly.

Stuart laughed. "Extra dumplings it is. See? I can make good decisions."

🌎🌎🌎

Despite her boyfriend's reassurances, Miya's stomach was still tied up in nervous knots as she approached the music room the next day. She paused just outside the door, working up the courage to go inside. She had arrived a bit early, having darted out of her second-to-last period class as soon as the bell rang to be the first one there. If it was bad news, she'd rather it not be presented in front of the rest of her classmates. Taking a deep breath, she reached forward and turned the knob, then stepped through the doorway.

The music room was set up similarly to her middle school one: chairs arranged on carpeted risers with the percussion instruments in the back, an upright piano on the far left side that had been pushed up against the teacher's desk, which sat in front of a chalkboard that was lined with a music staff. The familiarity of it made her feel more at ease, though she wished the one thing that was different— Farkle not being there— was also the same. He'd elected to take an honors chemistry class instead of the music extracurricular he'd had in middle school, which was where he was now.

Miya glanced around the room, wondering if she should just go over to the piano— or was that too presumptuous?— when a loud gasp made her turn sharply to her right where the teacher's office was. An older woman with graying hair that was pinned into a professional-looking bun and who wore turquoise-framed glasses had stepped into the classroom. She wore an assortment of beaded necklaces and shawls which made her look like the epitome of a 'music teacher stereotype.' She spread her arms wide in greeting, a beaming smile on her face as she moved towards the teen. "Miya! My star! My little firefly! My aurora! How wonderful it is to meet you at last!"

The brunette stared at her, completely dumbstruck. The only word she managed to squeak out was, ". . .star?"

"Yes, yes," her teacher— Ms. Wren— cooed. She clasped her hands together dramatically, bracelets jingling against one another as she nearly twirled in place. "Your audition tape! Oh, heavens above, Miya, when I tell you I pressed play, I did not expect to be transported to another realm. And yet— you are comet blazing across the night sky! A marvel the likes of which we have been waiting for."

Miya blinked, unsure if she was supposed to laugh or nod. Her throat felt tight, words becoming too jumbled to form any kind of sentence.

Ms. Wren continued, her eyes glittering behind those turquoise frames, "we haven't had such brilliance in years. Years! I daresay, this school has been waiting for someone like you and finally, the universe delivered."

The praise was so effusive that Miya shifted awkwardly, clutching the strap of her Doraemon backpack. She still wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. Her stomach did a nervous flip as she tried to steady her voice. "So. . . does that mean I, um, made orchestra?"

Ms. Wren gasped again, as if the question itself were absurd. "Made orchestra, my dear? You are the orchestra!"

Miya's mouth fell open slightly.

"We don't usually give freshmen solos," Ms. Wren went on, her voice dropping to a reverent hush, as if she were sharing a sacred secret. Then, unable to contain herself, she let out a delighted laugh that echoed off the risers. "But you—oh, Miya, you are no ordinary freshman. No, no, no. We simply must showcase you at the Christmas concert. And so, we are breaking tradition."

"Breaking. . . tradition?" Miya echoed faintly.

"That's right." Ms. Wren lifted a finger in the air as if declaring a revelation. "At the Christmas concert, you shall have a solo! A solo, Miya! Do you know how rarely that happens for a freshman? Never. Simply never. But as soon as I heard you, I said to myself, 'Wren, you'd be a fool to hide this treasure in the shadows.'"

A solo. The word hit Miya like a chord struck too loudly, vibrating through her chest. She was used to being the quiet one in the group, the one cheering from the sidelines while her friends shone in the spotlight. She'd never minded— it was just how things were, especially with her dyslexia making school so hard sometimes. But here? Right now?

Someone was calling her the star.

Her cheeks heated, and she fumbled for words. "I-I don't even know what to say."

"Say nothing," Ms. Wren replied dreamily, lifting both hands as if conducting an invisible orchestra. "Just play. That's all the world needs from you, Miya. To play."

Miya swallowed hard, her nerves tangling with an unfamiliar spark of excitement. A solo. Her solo. For the first time, it wasn't impossible to imagine herself not just keeping up with her friends but standing out all on her own.

🌎🌎🌎

Miya was antsy as the last seconds of the period crept closer, fidgeting on the piano bench as she waited for the bell to ring. As they always did, she was going to meet up with Farkle at the end of the day— and this time she itching to tell him about her news. The buzz in her veins hadn't dulled all period— Ms. Wren's words replayed in her mind on a loop. When she was finally released from class, she was the first person out the door. As she made her way to their usual spot, she found Farkle leaning against the lockers by the stairwell, his backpack hanging off one shoulder as he flipped through some notes he'd taken in chemistry.

"Farkle!" Miya called, her voice bubbling with energy before she could temper it. She darted the last few steps and nearly bounced on her toes. "You were right! It went amazing. Better than amazing. Ms. Wren. . . oh my gosh, she said— she— she's giving me a solo! At the Christmas concert! And apparently that never happens for freshmen!"

Her words tumbled out so quickly they nearly tripped over each other.

Farkle's head snapped up, and a grin spread across his face, wide and genuine. "See? I told you! I told you! You always think you're not going to impress people and then you blow them away. A solo, Miya— that's huge. You're going to be incredible."

Miya's cheeks flushed with pride, though she ducked her head, smiling shyly. "I still can't believe it. I thought she was going to tell me I wasn't even good enough to make the orchestra. And instead. . ." She trailed off with laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

Farkle slung an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. "Instead, she saw what I've always known."

That warmth in her chest grew. She tilted her head to look up at him. "What about you? How was honors chem?"

The grin faltered slightly. He shrugged, shifting his books under his arm. "It's. . . fine, I guess. Just. . . Smackle's in the class too. And she's. . ." He made a face, somewhere between admiration and exasperation. "She's already two steps ahead of me on every problem. I felt like I was playing catch-up the entire time."

Miya's smile softened. Her enthusiasm dimmed, guilt creeping in as she began to feel bad about being so quick to gush. "Oh. . . I'm sorry, Farkle. I didn't mean to—"

"Hey." He squeezed her shoulders again, stopping her before she could spiral further. His voice gentled. "Don't do that. Don't shrink your happiness just because of me. What you did— that's incredible, Miya. You should be happy. Proud. I am proud of you."

Her eyes stung a little at his sincerity. She nodded slowly, letting herself smile again, though more softly this time. "Okay. Proud. I'll. . . try to be proud."

"Good." Since the hallway was relatively empty, he felt brave enough to give her a quick kiss on the temple (the most PDA he felt comfortable with in school was hand-holding or hugging), then pulled back, his grin returning. "Now, what do you say we head to Riley's? Let's see if my trickle-down effect theory was right."

Miya laughed, the last of her guilt easing. "Yeah. Let's go find out— though it probably is, considering what happened to us."

🌎🌎🌎

Farkle was the first to climb through the bay window. He was greeted with the expectant eyes of Lucas, Riley, Maya and Zay. The former two were sitting on Riley's bed together while the latter pair was standing on the right side of the room. Maya noticed his expression immediately and queried, "what's the matter, darling?"

"There's another genius in my Honors Chem class!" he announced with a frown. "The other genius is making me feel bad! And while I was getting outshined, someone else was absolutely dazzling."

Lucas stood up and grabbed his arm to gently pull him over to sit with him and Riley. "Then you're on this side of the room, loser."

"You know what the worst thing of life is?" Farkle mused as he followed the Texan. "The worst thing of life is when someone you know is doing better than you and. . ."

"Rubs it in your face?" Zay offered.

"No."

"Can't hit a baseball to save his life?" Lucas suggested.

Farkle scowled at them. "Me time!"

"I was talking about you."

"The worst thing of life," Farkle reiterated, "is when someone you know is doing better than you and loves you anyway."

"Farkle!" Smackle exclaimed as she climbed through the window, causing the other teens to give Farkle a mix of confused looks and downright glares.

"Smackle's the genius in your chemistry class?" Lucas inquired.

Meanwhile, Maya took a completely different meaning from his words. "I can't believe you'd talk about Smackle like that! How do you think it would make my name-twin feel?"

"Farkle was talking about me?" Smackle chimed in hopefully.

"No," the genius retorted, his sharp tone directed more at Maya than her. "Miya was the one I was talking about. Smackle was just the genius in my chemistry class."

Zay pulled Smackle over to their side. "Well, you're with us now."

"Don't hit on me in front of Lucas!" she objected.

"Smackle!" the Texan grumbled.

Luckily, Miya's arrival brought their attention back to the topic at hand. When she finished climbing through the window, she glanced at the two groups. "Why's everyone choosing sides?"

"Farkle said you've got good news," Zay stated cheerfully. "Spill it so you can join our side."

She gave him a puzzled look but obliged, sharing, "well. . . I got a solo at the Christmas concert in my music class."

"Yep, you're with us!" Maya decided brightly, tugging her over to stand between her and Smackle. "I knew my name-twin would end up on the same side of the room as me!"

"Um. . . yay?" Miya mumbled, still rather bewildered. She glanced at Farkle, hoping he'd have some answers, but he was busy frowning at Smackle. "Seriously, though— what's going on?"

"We're splitting up based on who are winners or losers," Maya explained. She gestured to the four of them. "We are the winners. They are the winners. Oh, and I defended your relationship with Farkle."

While that helped, it didn't clear everything up. Miya's voice rose in question as she asked, "I didn't know my relationship with Farkle needed defending?"

"Farkle was talking about me," Smackle informed her happily. "And now with Zay hitting on me, you, me and Farkle— we're better than a triangle, we're a quadrilateral!"

Miya wanted to tell her we're not anything— Farkle is mine, but she wasn't brave enough (and certainly not confident enough) to say anything. Thankfully, Maya being distracted by the unfamiliar word pulled her from what was surely going to be a self-deprecating spiral. "What's that?"

"It means square," Farkle told her flatly. "Over here we say square."

The Asian girl chewed her bottom lip for a second before she came to a decision, abandoning the 'winners' side to cross the room. She nudged Farkle's foot with her own. "Scoot over."

He gave her a confused look. "But this is the losers' side."

Miya crossed her arms, her expression firm. "Then I guess I don't want to be a winner if it means I'm not with you."

Farkle flushed at the sound of Riley's quiet 'awww.' Trying to move past the sentiment (no matter how much he appreciated it) to avoid the teasing that was sure to come, he insisted, "you don't have to say that just to make me feel better. I'm just. . . confused. I've never been on this side of the room before."

"Yeah, I'm not thrilled about it, either," Lucas grumbled as Riley stood up and he shifted over so Miya could sit next to her boyfriend. He glanced at the Matthews girl. "How do you feel?"

Miya took the open seat and wrapped her arms around Farkle, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He stiffened immediately, his ears going red as he became acutely aware of his friends' presence in the room. He was glad that Riley's response kept anyone from commenting on this sudden development. "Well, I am happy for you guys."

"Of course you are," Maya remarked fondly. "You're Riley. You've always been Riley."

🌎🌎🌎

Later that night after a dinner of leftover Chinese, Farkle returned to Riley's room, this time alone. When he arrived, he found the brunette sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at her Spanish textbook that had been thrown haphazardly on her desk. After a moment where they simply smiled at each other in greeting, Riley inquired, "what are you gonna do about Miya?"

"I got a real problem here," he admitted, lowering himself onto the floor beside her. "I could try and reclaim my spot as the smartest kid in school but I know if I do, it'll only make Smackle raise her level, too. Miya would support me, though. And if I don't do anything. . . if I accept things the way they are, Miya would be happy for me then, too."

"So you've really got nothing to lose," Riley pointed out.

"Yeah. . ." he began, the word trailing off quietly before he restarted: "but that's exactly the problem. I've never had nothing to lose before. There's always been some competition, some need to prove I'm the best, to prove I belong. Now. . . Miya makes me feel like I don't have to. If I stop pushing myself, what if I'm not me anymore? What if I'm just. . . average?"

Riley shook her head. "You could never be average, Farkle. You weren't in middle school and you aren't now. Our permanent record doesn't just start in high school."

"It has to matter what grades we got in middle school," he agreed.

"It has to matter that who we were affects who we are. You chose Miya because she challenges you differently than academics do," the brunette reasoned. "You're going to want to push yourself in any area. That's who you are."

"What are you gonna do about Spanish class?" he wanted to know.

Riley's gaze drifted back to her textbook. "I'm going to have to raise my level, too. I was always a pretty good student. You were always the smartest student in the class. That's not good enough."

"I knew you'd say that," Farkle declared.

"Why?"

"Because you've always been Riley. That's your permanent record."

🌎🌎🌎

"Buenos días, Señora Feinstein-Chang. Hoy es un nuevo día," Riley addressed her Spanish teacher in class the next day.

Miya twisted around in her seat to watch the brunette progress to her desk in the center of the room. Ms. Feinstein-Chang smiled warmly at her. "Español. Muy bien, Roberta."

The brunette stood next to her spot without taking her seat as she continued, "gracias por empujarme a elevar mi aguacate. Voy a mejorar mi aguacate a la letra D a la letra A. Gracias. La papa es un buen barco de vela."

Maya chuckled as her best friend's Spanish grew steadily less fluent. "Esa es mi chica, Roberta. La papa es un buen barco de vela."

But, Ms. Feinstein-Chang was still pleased with her effort, no matter how she botched it. "Very good, Riley. I expected nothing less."

"Español solamente, por favor," Riley requested.

"Si, señorita!"

🌎🌎🌎

They purposefully arrived early to their next class, much to Cory's surprise. Maya explained, "I want an A from you, too, Matthews, I'm collecting a whole set."

He beamed at her approvingly. "Good for you, Maya."

"Eh, quit your blubberin', this'll go away," she brushed off his praise with a wave of her arm.

Zay shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. "I had such a good day at tryouts, I thought the coach was gonna put me on varsity."

Lucas hung his head. "I didn't even deserve to make junior varsity the way I practiced."

"But he put us both on the J.V. team," Zay informed them, a note of disbelief in his tone.

Cory set down the papers he'd been sorting through and made his way to the front of the room. "You know what I've known all along, even though I learned it just now? Good teachers look down the road to someone's possibilities. What you know now is never good enough for a good teacher because there's so much out there to learn." He propped himself on the edge of his desk so he could meet the groups' eyes. "And sometimes you won't get it at all. And sometimes it may seem like we're speaking to you in a foreign language. But you know what? There are good teachers here. I'm looking forward to being one of them."

"You always have been," Riley promised him.

Lucas glanced over at his best friend. "You know, I'm glad we get to play together on the same team."

"Me, too, man," Zay concurred, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder.

Farkle turned around to give Miya a fond look, hesitating for only a moment before he placed his hand, palm up, on her desk. "Thank you for accepting me exactly as I am."

Miya eyed his hand curiously, then tentatively reached out with her own to place hers in his. He intertwined their fingers to hold her hand firmly, squeezing gently once he had. She met his gaze with a fond look of her own as she promised, "I always will."

Despite feeling his face heat up at the group's (predictable) 'awww,' Farkle replied, "good. You're just as smart as I thought."

Cue another round of 'awwws.' Once they were done, Lucas grinned. "Thanks, guys. I hate it when turns out that I'm the only one who says 'awww.'"