The senior class’ excursion to the history museum starts with three missing students and a flat tire.

Maya, who’s never really cared for History in the first place, is fine to sit on the curb and watch as their teacher argues with the bus driver while the admin assistant tries to track down the missing kids.

Surrounding her is what’s left of the class, scattered in their little groups. She’s just taking her phone out of her pocket to text her mother about the current situation when someone sinks down next to her on the curb.

She turns, ready to politely ask them to sit elsewhere because she wants to be left alone, but a blinding smile has the words dying in her throat.

Riley Matthews, cheerleader, model student, daughter of their history teacher and general all-around goody two shoes, definitely the last person Maya expects to approach her, especially in school where her reputation could be tarnished.

“Uh, can I help you?”

“Well, yes, but probably not in the way you think. I just wanted to come sit with you!”

Maya hesitates, not wanting to offend, but curiosity winning over in the end. “Why?”

Riley shrugs. “You were the only one here,” she says, before sticking her hand out. “I’m Riley.”

“I know.”

The other girl blinks in surprise, as if she isn’t practically a household name within the school, but recovers quickly enough. “And you’re Maya Hart.”

“In the flesh.” Maya allows herself a semi-grin, before settling back more comfortable against the curb. “I should warn you,” she says, “I’m not very good company.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong about that.”

Riley proceeds to ask her a variety of questions, each more obscure than the last. Maya finds herself continuing to answer only because they’re all so weird.

By the time the tire is replaced and the missing children have been found, they’re deep into a full-blown conversation, and Maya gets shaken out of it by someone hollering her name.

She looks up to find they’re the only two people outside, and shoots to her feet. Riley reaches out to grab her hand before she can jog to the bus, and she turns, impatient. “What?”

“Sit next to me?” She asks, voice quiet and tentative, brown eyes darting back and forth between the bus and her own feet.

Maya finds herself softening, simply tugging Riley along with the wrist she’s still holding. “Sure, whatever. Come on, I don’t want to get yelled at again.”

The smile Riley shoots her is enough to fill her with warmth for the entirety of the excursion.

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