A/N: I'm trying something here! Hello everybody! I've been lurking in the GMW fandom for a while and I am excited to finally share my take on these characters with you. This story will be presented as a largely stream-of-consciousness narrative from Riley's point of view, set in the future when all of our favorite characters have grown up. The premise is simple: what happens to an optimist when the world doesn't deliver on everything it promised it would? Riley's an optimist and the world has been unkind. There are plenty of appearances by the rest of the gang, too. I hope you'll enjoy where I go with this, because it's been a passion project of mine for the past few months. Please let me know what you think of this first chapter. Consider it a pilot chapter/episode and I'd love your feedback! I'm super excited to embark on this journey and take you along with me!

If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that you have to let go. In fact, letting go is probably the most important thing. You learn something in letting go—how much you care about someone, how much you can't live without them. Or maybe that you never needed them in the first place. My dad once taught me that if you love something, set it free. If it doesn't come back, it was never yours to begin with.

That's why I was happy for Farkle when he was accepted at Harvard, even though I knew he'd probably get along better with the people there—the people of his intellect. That we probably wouldn't talk as much once he went to Cambridge. I was right.

It's why I let Lucas go. I loved him and he loved me. We just didn't know how. So I let him go to Maya, because they deserved to be happy and we were all confused. Maya and I shared everything growing up. In a way, it was natural that we would share Lucas, too. And Lucas Friar, most likely to be okay with anything that happens, went with it. Maybe because he thought it would make us happy. He found his match in my best friend—my sister. He was good for her, and she for him. Both of them have always been more than just friends to me. And in the end, Lucas came back to me as a brother. He's still my brother, now.

It's why I forced Maya to go to the Savannah College of Art and Design when she was offered a full scholarship, even though she swore she'd be happier in some hole in Brooklyn, making street art and tagging the walls of dilapidated factory lofts.

Always a plane ride away. That's what we'd said when I left her at LaGuardia Airport with her luggage and her portfolio and the guitar that once belonged to my great-grandmother. But we both knew that a plane ride away may as well have been a world away. Just because SCAD was offering her a full ride, didn't mean they were going to pay for her plane tickets back and forth. Savannah was where she was going to school and Savannah was where she would stay. Even in the summer. We were long-distance best friends for four years until she returned.

But I was selfish with Charlie. I didn't want to let him go. So I told him to follow his dreams at UCLA, to work hard and become the best architect the world had ever seen. Because he was always good at building things up when they'd been knocked down. When he got on that plane, I had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be coming back to the East Coast. But I convinced myself that a long-distance relationship would work. That I could be in New York and he could be in Los Angeles and even though he was three hours behind me, we would be alright. We were alright until Christmas. I haven't seen Charlie Gardner since. It's been five years.

Chelsea died today. She was the first living thing I saw every morning and today, she was gone. I wasn't surprised. Fish Store Phil told us that goldfish, when taken care of, can live between ten and fifteen years. Chelsea turned ten last spring and now she's gone. So I had to set her free, too. I watched her orange body—shimmering and lifeless—as it spiraled down the drain. I knew she wasn't coming back. Goldfish are like people—even the ones closest to you are never totally yours. And even with the best of intent, once they're gone they very rarely come back. Sometimes never.

When Maya came back, she was different. She changed in college. In her letters, she described it as "connecting with her art." I wish I knew what that felt like. I wish I knew how to connect. I had a creative writing professor at Oswego who ripped apart a short story I handed in once. It almost made me change my major. I'm paralyzed when I sit in front of my computer, even if I'm only writing a two-hundred and fifty word blurb that no one will read, that'll inevitably be buried under a mountain of more important news.

Maya lives in Bushwick now. In a two-bedroom brownstone near Irving Square Park. She wears so many hats—teacher, artist, best friend, wife. Lucas works as a vet tech. He's finishing up his veterinary degree through Cornell's Manhattan campus. My sister and my brother, sharing one house and one last name and neither of them are mine. I live near Battery Park in a one-bedroom apartment on the nineteenth floor that costs entirely too much in rent. I don't care. I like the view. There's no bay window, but I can see New York Harbor from my bedroom. It's good for my writing.

Farkle's living somewhere in the Upper West Side, in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. I don't see him much, but I hear about him often. He's a dictator and a tyrant, but in the best way possible. And as the youngest-ever Chairman of the Board at Minkus International, he's a pretty big deal. He made Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential last year. I went to a keynote he gave at Columbia a few months ago. He invited me to get a drink afterwards. I haven't seen him in person since then.

The thing they never tell you about growing up is that it's lonely. It's lonely when all your friends have moved on with their lives, accomplished what they wanted to accomplish and you're left trying to keep up, trying to contribute something to the conversation. But not even the most intense cheerfulness and optimism can compare to a well-loved art teacher, a board member of a Fortune 500 company, and a soon-to-be-veterinarian. Heck, my brother's sixteen and he's already talking to colleges thanks to a presentation he gave at a science symposium. I'm twenty-four and stuck in Riley-town. My dad used to tell me never to grow up. I don't think he knew what he was wishing for.

I shut my laptop with a definitive thud, louder and more forceful than I intended. I couldn't stare at the harsh glare of empty Word documents any longer. My eyes drifted towards Chelsea's bowl, vacated upon her passing. No heir to inherit the family estate. The bowl was still full of water. A few uneaten flakes of fish food had nestled themselves between the gaps in the ramparts of the plastic castle. Someone once told me that goldfish have a three-second memory span. I don't know if that's true or not, but if it is, it means that every time Chelsea swam through the archway of that plastic castle, she was exploring a whole new world. I wish I was a goldfish.

I left my apartment just as the lunch rush started. I needed to go for a walk. I needed to get out of there, away from the oppressive silence and the empty fishbowl. I started down South End Avenue and took a right onto Rector Place, parallel to the park. A few joggers were out, running past the semi-circular row of benches and along the iron fence, headed in the opposite direction of me, dodging suited office workers. The sky was overcast but not entirely dark—typical of an autumn day in the City. The temperature hovered around forty-five degrees. I stopped to buy a coffee from a vendor's cart, warming my hands on the sides of the Styrofoam cup.

I crossed over to the Esplanade and made my way along the walking path. New York Harbor was murky and gray, its currents lapping at the sheer wall of the walkway. The water was choppy. I imagined Chelsea sinking to the bottom of the Harbor, her glittery scales glinting as they caught bits of light on the way down.

I used to love the Esplanade, before I lived right next to it. In high school it was mine and Charlie's thing to take the subway down to Bowling Green Station and walk through Battery Park. I thought I would love being so close but the place has lost its magic. I hardly go there now. My coffee ran out by South Cove Park and I chucked the cup into a garbage can. I decided I should head back to my apartment. My editor was expecting five hundred words by Friday and I had yet to produce a single sentence.

It was dark when I got back. I had forgotten to open the blinds. I sat at my desk, took a deep breath, and opened my laptop to try again. But I didn't have anything to say and I found myself staring into Chelsea's empty bowl until I lost my train of thought.

My phone rang—a welcome distraction. I swept up the device eagerly. A photo of me and Maya stared back at me, her name emblazoned across the top of the screen. I tapped the green button and put the phone to my face. "Hello?"

"Hey, you free to talk?" Maya sounded tense. I furrowed my brow. It was three o'clock. School was out but Maya never left the building before five, even though I begged her not to be in that part of the Bronx after dark.

"For you? Always," I answered automatically. For anyone. Always. It's not like I had anything better to do. "What's up?"

She sighed a tired sigh. I could picture her face, scrunched up and exhausted. Where was she right now? "Not on the phone," she finally said. "Bay window."

"Maya, I don't have a bay window."

"You have a window that looks out on the Bay," she pointed out. "Close enough. I'll be there in an hour."

I didn't even ask who was there when the buzzer rang in my living room. I just pushed the button and unlocked the door. Maya burst into my apartment three minutes later, a tote dangling from her right hand. Her blonde curls were a mess. "Bay window. Bay window right now," she didn't greet me, just dropped the bag, sending grade books and student portfolios scattering across my living room floor. She seized my wrist with one hand and pulled me toward the bedroom.

Maya sank into my office chair, swinging it from side-to-side, deep in thought. I perched on one corner of my bed and felt the mattress dip beneath me. I hadn't seen her this visibly upset in a long time. Her eyes darted around the room distractedly, settling on Chelsea's empty home.

"The fish…"

"Chelsea died today," I explained.

"Looks like we both lost a little piece of ourselves."

I furrowed my brow. "Maya, what happened?"

"I just had a meeting with my principal and a representative from the Board of Education," she said.

I held my breath. Board of Education members rarely meant anything good. My father taught me that, too. "What happened?"

"They're letting me go, Riles," she said abruptly. "I have until winter break starts."

"What? Why?" I was outraged. Indignant. Maya Hart—Maya Friar—was the best artist I knew and an amazing teacher. How could they let someone like her go?

"Budget cuts," she told me. Same old story. "They said they don't have it in the budget to keep paying someone with my qualifications so they have to let me go. They recommended I look at districts in Rockland County or Bergen County, New Jersey. Places with wealthier people and more room in their budgets to pay me."

I paused, unsure of what to say. They were right, of course. Those places did have more room in their budgets. "Do you want to go to a wealthier district?"

"No! No, I don't, Riley. They don't need someone like me. Those schools have tons of resources. Those kids are going to be fine. My kids need me."

I wondered what it felt like to be needed.

Maya dropped her face into her hands. "You're so good at fixing things, Riley. Help me. Please. What do I do?"

I took a deep breath. What would my dad do? "Maya, if you really feel strongly about this, you need to go to the Board of Ed office and tell them that."

She paused, eyes searching mine. I could tell she was looking for a hole in my logic. Her expression contorted. "You really think that's all it'll take? I just waltz on down there and say 'hey, let me keep my job' and they'll say 'why sure, Maya, since you asked so nicely here ya go. In fact, we'll give ya a raise.' Is that really how you think this is gonna go?" There was bitterness in her blue eyes. I couldn't tell if there were tears welling up in them or if it was a trick of the light. My face dropped. She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry," Maya said. "I didn't mean to be sarcastic, it's just—"

"I know," I cut her off. "It's okay. Maya, you believe in art, right?"

Her eyes popped open in surprise. "Yes," she answered slowly.

"You believe in your kids, right?"

"More than I've ever believed in anything my whole life."

I put my arms around her shoulders. "Then you'll find a way to keep your job. Believing is powerful." The corners of her mouth tweaked upwards. I realized I was a hypocrite.

"Look at this," Maya held up a pastel drawing. I took a step closer to the dining table to see it. "Tasha started working on this last week. She finished it today." The drawing was done entirely in black-and-white, depicting an old tugboat, decaying on the banks of some unknown river. "I've seen this boat. It's at a ship graveyard on Staten Island. The assignment was photorealism. How can anyone look at this and say art isn't important? How can anyone look at this and say we don't have room for it in the budget?"

I stirred spaghetti and stared into the depths of the pot. "Maya, do you remember how we saved the arts program at John Quincy Adams?"

"Of course I remember," my best friend clasped her head in her hands again, smudging streaks of pastel into her hair. She snatched up her pen and made a note in her grade book, then carefully replaced Tasha's drawing in its folder. "But times change, Riles. Turner's not the superintendent of schools anymore. There's nobody in power to protect the kids."

"There's you," I pointed out, setting the ladle aside and covering the pot. She looked at me and tried to scoff. "You can protect them. You can advocate for them."

"I'm just a teacher, and a new one at that. They'll never listen to me," Maya answered, opening the next portfolio. She frowned at it a moment and I craned my neck to see the crude, pastel impression of a purple cat.

"Whose is that?" I questioned.

"Emma's," my best friend murmured. I could tell she was conflicted, but she finally wrote something in the grade book and put Emma's purple cat on the stack with the rest of the drawings. "You know what, maybe I will go down to the Board of Ed and at least give them a piece of my mind."

"Does Lucas know?" It seemed obvious but I hadn't thought to ask the question earlier. Sometimes I forget they're living under the same roof now.

Maya shook her head. "I haven't told him yet. He was at work and now he's in class."

"Will you two be okay?"

"I hope so," she answered. "I don't know, Riles. He's still in school. He's still got loans to pay off and vet techs make next-to-nothing. I'm the main source of income right now…"

I envied Maya's life, as strange as it sounds. I had envied that she had a stable job, a stable relationship with a good man, a stable life that was already figured out. Even in that moment, as I realized how much of a struggle it really was for her and Lucas to keep the roof over their heads, how uncertain their future truly was now that her job was in jeopardy, I was still jealous of her. I lifted the lid of the pot and let the steam bombard my face until the feeling subsided.

The intercom buzzed again. I frowned. "Riley Matthews," I answered. I thought it might be the delivery guy—I must have ordered something and forgotten. What I heard instead was Lucas's familiar drawl.

"Hey, Riles. Is Maya there?"

I couldn't help but grin at her as she shook her head, shutting her grade book and slipping it back into her tote.

"She sure is. Come on up," I buzzed him in and unlocked the door again, but that didn't stop him from knocking first. "It's open," I called out, straining the spaghetti, colander balanced precariously on either side of the narrow kitchen sink. Lucas opened the door and stepped inside. He was dressed in navy blue scrubs with the name of the clinic embroidered over the left breast. His pointy boots had been replaced by sneakers. I'd never seen Lucas in his uniform before.

"How'd you know you'd find me here?" Maya questioned, rising from her seat to greet him. He folded her into his arms.

"Just a hunch," he leaned over her.

"You smell like dog," she murmured into the fabric of his scrubs.

"And you look like a work of art," he replied, teasing his hands through her pastel-streaked hair.

"Dinner's almost done," I piped up, pretending not to have witnessed their moment.

"Hi, Riley," Lucas smiled, releasing his wife from his grip. Maya made a face as she spat out bits of dog hair. Lucas chuckled. "I'd hug you but I'm covered in dog hair."

"I'm a dog person," I insisted, wrapping my arms around my brother. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"I was at my night class," he answered. "Maya usually texts me when she gets home so we can figure out dinner but when she didn't, I figured she'd be here."

"Well, dinner's on me," I answered, opening a cabinet and rummaging for three plates. All mismatched. I heaped pasta onto all three and opened a can of Ragu. It wasn't fancy, but it was the best I had.

"Riley, you don't have to—" Maya began.

"No, stay!" I insisted. "Please! Look, I already made so much. I can't eat this all by myself." I don't know why I pushed so hard for the two of them to have dinner with me. It's not like we didn't see each other at all. Just not as much as we'd like.

"Riles, I'm covered in dog hair. We should really get home—"

"Lucas, sit," I pointed to the circular dining table, two chairs arranged around it.

"Okay," he threw his hands up in surrender. "Can I wash my hands first?"

I jerked my head in the direction of the bathroom and went to drag my office chair over from the bedroom. "You're gonna tell him, right?" I dropped into the chair and it rolled backwards with my momentum.

"Here?" Maya looked stricken for a moment.

"Why not? I already know. You may as well get it over with here and go home in peace."

"Riley, I don't know."

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Sweetie, do you trust me?"

"More than I trust myself sometimes," she answered. Her eyes fell to her plate and she studied a stray droplet of spaghetti sauce intently.

"Let him know now. He loves you, Maya. You'll figure it out."

"Figure what out?" Lucas pulled out his chair and tumbled into it with a slight sigh, sweeping up his fork eagerly. I scrutinized his face. The bags under his green eyes had gotten darker and more prominent. Lucas looked tired. More tired than a twenty-five year old should look.

I cleared my throat and set my fork down. "Lucas, Maya has something to tell you."

Maya's eyes shot icy blue daggers in my direction but I didn't waver.

"Maya, what is it?" Lucas set his fork down and swallowed, searching his wife's face for a hint.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment and she let out a measured breath through her nostrils. "The district's cutting back on funding," she began. I watched Lucas's face fall. "And they've decided that they can't afford to pay me. So I will be officially out of a job come December."

Silence. I wished I hadn't forced Maya to tell him. I wished I had just kept my mouth shut and let her formulate the right words and pick the right time when she was alone with her husband. I wished I hadn't tried to fix this because something told me I had just made it worse.

Lucas slowly reached across the table, his hand clasping Maya's. "What should we do?" he asked carefully.

I caught her sniffle. "I'm going to march down to the Board of Ed office tomorrow and I'm going to speak to whoever it takes to get the message across that I have no intention of leaving."

He traced his thumb over her knuckles. "You think it'll work?"

"It worked when we were kids," she replied. "I believe there's a chance."

"I'll go with you."

"Lucas, you don't have to—"

"Of course I have to. I'm your husband."

"You might not like how this ends!"

"How it ends doesn't matter, Maya! How it ends is you and me. Together. Getting through this no matter what decision they make."

My eyes fell to my plate and I began tracing paths through the little crevices and gaps formed by the noodles. Riley Matthews. Third-wheeling since the ninth grade. I wanted to say that I'd be there, too. That I'd support them, too. That it was Maya and Lucas…and me. But instead I kept quiet and worked my way through a spaghetti maze.

"I was saving this for a special occasion," I emerged from the kitchen clutching a bottle of Chianti and brought it over to where they were seated on the couch. "But I think now's an appropriate time."

"Good," Maya snorted. "I could use a drink."

I fetched three wine glasses from the cabinet and lined them up on the coffee table.

"None for me, please," Lucas requested. "I gotta drive us home."

"I'll have his," Maya said. I poured two glasses for her and figured she of all people was entitled to it. She raised one and handed the other to Lucas. "A toast. To an unstable future but an unstable future together."

"Hear, hear." We clinked our glasses together. Lucas took a sip and then handed the rest to his wife.

Maya downed a good quarter of the glass in one gulp. "God," she said after a minute. "I needed that."

"Might wanna take it easy there," Lucas arched a brow at her but she ignored him, taking another massive gulp.

I swirled the wine around in my glass as Maya moved on to her second. I debated whether I should try to match her or not. But hey, nobody was telling me to take it easy.

Maya finished her second glass and reached for the bottle. Her cheeks were starting to glow red. "Hope you got a second bottle," she told me, passing it back across the table by the neck.

Lucas got up and went to the sink, filling two glasses with water. He pressed one into each of our hands. "Damage control," he told us.

I smiled. "Thank you, Lucas." I was still fine. I rose to find another bottle. It was a cheap one I picked up somewhere, not nearly as nice as the Chianti but I figured we were well past the point of caring.

"It's like…it's like a bay window," Maya reached for the new bottle before I had even opened it. "Like, do you remember? We would sit and we would just, like, talk like this. Just like this."

I poured a second glass for myself and tried to make sense of what my best friend was telling me. "Except we were usually sober when we sat at the bay window."

" 'Cept in college, remember? I surprised you an' we made a bay window in your dorm an' we drank that bottle o…god, what was it?" Maya giggled. And then her face shifted, morphed into a pained expression. "I'm gonna be outta a job," she slurred. "We all knew tha' was gonna happen though, din't we, Pumpkin?" She whimpered a little.

"Oh-kay," Lucas wrestled the glass away from her, half-full. "I think you've had plenty."

The wine was starting to take effect and my head was buzzing a little, but what she said still bothered me.

"Bu' not you, Pumpkin," Maya pointed a shaky finger at me. "You still gotta job. You always gotta job. I wish I was you."

I tried to force a smile. I felt warm. Lucas shifted uncomfortably. "But you'll be alright, Peaches," I told her. "You got Lucas. You got each other." I felt Lucas's gaze on me. It cut through the glassiness of my vision. I couldn't read his expression in that moment.

"An' you got Charlie. Good ol' Charlie Gardner," Maya practically sang, leaning against her husband. "Good ol' Cheese Soufflé."

My heart stopped.

"Maya," Lucas began, eyeing me even more uncomfortably than before.

"Shhhh," she shushed him, jabbing a finger at his chest. "Be quiet, Huckleberry."

"Maya," he said a little more firmly.

"Wha'?" I saw clarity in her eyes as what she said finally dawned on her. "Oh no."

"It's fine," I said. I set my glass down and decided I was drunk.

" 'M sorry, Riles," Maya tried to lean across the coffee table. "I din't mean it."

"I think it's time we hit the road," Lucas stood up, guiding his wife to a standing position beside him. "We have work tomorrow." He turned to Maya. "And you are gonna be feeling that hangover in the morning."

"It's fine," I repeated.

"Thanks for dinner, Riley," he hugged me, maybe a little tighter than usual. I couldn't read his expression, but I fancied he felt a little guilty from the way the corners of his mouth tweaked downwards.

Maya's eyes were glassy. I didn't know if it was from the alcohol or if she was crying. "I'm sorry about—"

"Don't be sorry. I should be sorry," I said quickly, walking them to the door. I watched Lucas help his wife toward the elevators and stood there until they disappeared behind the brass-colored sliding doors. I moved to the window to see if I could spot Lucas's blue SUV, but it was dark and every car looked the same.

The bottle of wine was still open on the coffee table and there were dishes in the sink but I didn't have the energy to clean up, so I let them sit there and went to my room. My head was buzzing but I could already tell this was as drunk as I was going to get. I envied Maya's tiny frame that allowed her to get wasted off a couple glasses of wine. She probably wouldn't remember much through her hangover in the morning. I, on the other hand, would remember all of it.

Letting go is the most important thing. If you love something, set it free. If it doesn't come back, it was never yours to begin with. What hurt wasn't so much that Charlie wasn't mine to begin with, even if I thought he was. What hurt the most was the way we left things. One video chat from across the country later and I was alone. We've had no contact in five years. No Merry Christmas or Happy New Year's or birthday text messages. Only the occasional Facebook update to remind me that he once existed in my life. Growing up is lonely. When I finally tumbled onto my mattress, I didn't even have the willpower to crawl beneath the sheets. I lay on top of them until I fell asleep. In my dream, I was walking down the aisle of a church in a wedding gown. When I looked to my right, Lucas was standing beside me but there was no one at the altar.

A/N: Going forward, I won't be leaving author's notes in every chapter but since this is an introduction, I thought I would do so here. I hope you enjoy the direction this is headed. Please let me know what you think-what worked, what didn't, how my characterization was, etc. Any feedback will definitely be helpful. Thank you for reading and I hope to hear from you soon!