This is what became of a prompt from ABEDFAN. I hope you like it!

It starts with colored pencils and a smart phone, and that time Maya isn't sure what to think when Mr. Matthews hands her those things. He plays it off like he has selfish motives for giving her the gifts, like he just wants her to keep track of Riley and Lucas – but she knows. She's been here before, had this happen in the past, like when Grammy sneaks an extra twenty into her wallet for after-school snacks, or when one of her subway friends says that they were "given" an extra pastry at the bakery this morning and does she want to take it off of their hands? And she knows, but she takes it anyway – always, whatever someone's offering – because she doesn't want to hurt them, or make them feel as awkward as she does, or she just doesn't know how to turn so and so down. So she takes what's offered, she plays along, and she tells herself it's fine – that they can all think what they want because she knows the truth or she doesn't care what they think.

But somehow it's harder when it's the Matthews or her other friends, because she doesn't want them to think that way about her. But they do – and as time goes on, it only gets worse. They all start in on it – Riley, Lucas, Zay, Farkle, all of them – and it grates on her, but she doesn't know how to make it stop. She never has.

She pretends not to notice the exchanged looks when the bill comes after they all decide to go get pizza together. When they push away her money and say something about how they "owed" her for something. She acts like it doesn't bother her, like it doesn't make her feel worthless. But when she gets home and goes to her room, she falls on her bed and she cries. She cries because her friends think she's a charity case. Because being their secret charity case hurts more than being called trash to her face. Every time it happens it gets harder to shrug and put on her fake smirk. It gets harder not to scream and yell, telling them she can pay for a five dollar pretzel! That she wants them to see her as more than Maya Who Doesn't Live in a Good Neighborhood.

But Riley keeps getting a guilty look in her eye whenever Maya reaches for her wallet, and Lucas has pulled the "it's what a Texas gentleman would do" card more than Maya cares to count – she's pretty sure she's going to physically hurt him the next time he does it – and Farkle… Somehow Farkle is the worst. Riley, Lucas, and Zay know exactly what they're doing when they refuse to let her pay for things. Farkle doesn't. He genuinely doesn't realize he's doing it; he's so used to having so much money, and he's so completely innocent and kind that he just doesn't see his own actions.

That bothers her more than anything. So the next time they go out – to a little hole-in-the-wall fro-yo place that Zay has begun to swear by – and Farkle offers to pay for her yogurt, she snaps. It's just the two of them – Harper very firmly suggested she get a tutor for the upcoming English Lit course they're working through, and Maya chose Farkle, so here they are – so it shouldn't matter so much, but it does. It matters a lot. And on top of finally cracking and admitting that she needs a real tutor, it hurts, and Maya has never felt so worthless.

She ends up going on the defense, yelling at this kid that she's known since first grade, "I can pay for it myself, you know!"

Farkle reels like she may as well have just slapped him, but he keeps his mouth shut, let's her pay for her own treat, and then follows her back to their table before either of them speak.

"I'm sorry," they say at the same time, neither one overly willing to look at the other.

Farkle dares to first, as he mutters timidly, "I didn't mean to offend you."

Maya shakes her head, not at all sure how to explain this – or if she can even get someone who's as rich as he is to understand. "I'm not offended," she cringes. "I don't think. I just… I don't want you guys thinking that I can't do it."

She means that about so much more than the money, but she hopes Farkle doesn't pick up on that. He studies her for a second, glances at the pile of English books they've scattered on the table, and she can literally tell the second that he figures it out. It looks like she isn't going to get her wish.

"Maya, nobody says you can't do it. You're Maya," he stresses her name like she's supposed to understand what he means, but she doesn't, and he can tell. So he adds, "You can do anything you set your mind to."

She shoves at an English textbook, muttering, "Except for this."

"So?" he shrugs, eyebrows drawing together like he doesn't get it. "You need an English tutor, Riley needs a… well, a bodyguard, practically. Lucas needs help keeping his anger in check. Zay needs help staying out of trouble. I need help figuring out social interactions, and so does Smackle – and she works part-time for NASA! Everybody needs help with something at some point in their lives, even if it is English classes or paying their bills. There's nothing wrong with admitting you need help – or standing up for yourself – nicely – if you don't. It just means we're human."

"This from the genius rich kid with Steve Jobs' IQ," she mutters, moving to open a book so that they can put an end to this conversation.

"So I'm smart!" Farkle shrugs, and she can hear the exasperation in his voice even if she doesn't look at his expression. "You're the talented one in our crew!"

At that she glances up at him and raises an incredulous eyebrow – only for him to slap a piece of notebook paper onto the book she'd grabbed. But it's not just a sheet of paper, it's the drawing she'd made ages ago in the library, and she raises her gaze slowly to his.

"You. Are. Talented," he said slowly, letting each word sink in. "You are strong, you are brave, you are beautiful, you are loyal, you are one of the best friends that anyone on this planet could ever hope to have! You. Have. Worth. Just like every other person on this planet… even if that worth isn't measured in dollar signs. And that's fine, so don't you ever forget it! Alright?"

She opens her mouth uselessly, trying to think of the proper response, and ends up closing it again and just nodding, because, really, what is she supposed to say to that?

He relaxes back against his seat, folds her drawing up, and puts it back in his pocket. Does he really still carry it around with him after all this time? "Okay." He nods firmly, takes out a pencil and notebook, and says, "Now, onto The Call of the Wild."

And that's that. The conversation is over, and they never mention it again.

But the next time the five of them go out after school later that week, when they're crowded as a group around the register, he asks casually before anyone can order anything, "We're all paying for our own today, right?"

Farkle's gaze doesn't linger on hers any longer than anyone else's, but she still knows what he's doing and why, and she has to fight the urge to hug him then and there.