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When Riley stands next to Farkle, he radiates this warmth that she wants to be enveloped in forever. It doesn’t matter how cold the winter air is. When he’s there, she feels like she’s burning.
But that’s when it’s just the two of them. The second Smackle joins her boyfriend’s side, it’s as if that warmth is ripped out of Riley. It’s almost as if Smackle takes it all for herself.
Ever since Farkle and Smackle started dating, Riley has silently suffered through a lot of cold, winter days. She’d never known December to be so cruel. She’d honestly never even noticed it until now, the way the icy wind cuts through her, right down to her soul.
Maybe it’s not the wind at all. Maybe it’s the way Smackle stares at her. Always critical, always wary. Always pulling Farkle in another direction, far away from Riley. She doesn’t totally blame Smackle. In Riley’s mind, there’s a small thought, a little too dark for her own good, that knows Smackle should be scared. She should be nervous about all those not-so-secret glances Farkle directs toward Riley, and she should being suspicious of all the smiles Riley has to force herself to hide every time Farkle so much as breathes.
None of that matters, though. At the end of the night, it’s still Smackle and Farkle. And at the end of this lackluster Friday, late night smoothies and studying at Topanga’s, it’s no different. She knows she shouldn’t have agreed to tag along as a third person, but she really needed their help for an upcoming biology test.
Well, either that, or she just wanted to see Farkle again, because apparently seeing him for nearly seven hours straight in school isn’t enough.
But exactly when did it become not enough?
Walking out of the café, Riley hugs her jacket close to her body as she braces herself for the sharp coldness. She waves meekly to Smackle and Farkle as they say their goodnights and head back to his place together. It’s a slap on the wrist from fate itself, reminding Riley of her place: she’s the fading best friend who has to watch him walk away with another girl.
It feels wrong, seeing Smackle all puppy-eyed, walking hand-in-hand with Farkle. The thought doesn’t sit right with Riley. It makes her stomach churn. She just barely keeps her smoothie down on the walk home.
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Riley doesn’t know how long she’s been staring at the purple embroidered flowers on her bedspread from her spot at the bay window. She’d guess it’s been an hour now. Sometimes she counts the stitches and whispers thank you to each one for coming together to create something so beautiful. It’s absolutely senseless, and most of the time, she ends up getting totally lost in it. But that’s good, because it keeps the daydreams at bay. Getting lost in daydreams, especially when they involve Farkle, are much worse.
Her eyes tiredly dart to her bedside clock. 1:03. The glow of the red lines is harsh in the darkness of her bedroom. She reaches for the mug beside her and takes a sip, but the mint tea she made for herself has already gone cold. That’s what she gets for neglecting it. But she drinks it anyway.
A rush of cool wind suddenly hits Riley, making her jolt and turn toward the open window it’s coming from. A breath catches in her throat when she sees Farkle climbing over the threshold and into her space. He reeks of Smackle’s perfume, a hauntingly beautiful combination of lilacs and jasmine. In any other situation, Riley would love the smell. But coming second hand off of Farkle’s body, it nauseates her.
“What are you doing here?” Riley stutters in a whisper.
Farkle moves even closer to her, shivering slightly. Riley reaches up, instinctually wanting to cover his flushed cheeks with her hands, but she falters. That isn’t something she should do. Gentle touches, longing gazes, those aren’t meant to come from the best friend. That intimacy is reserved for Smackle now. Choking back a whimper, Riley drops her hands back down to her sides.
Riley continues, “You look like you’re freezing. Let me get you a blanket.”
She hasn’t even had a chance to stand up before Farkle’s hand reaches out and grabs hold of hers. His hand is cold, but his touch sets her on fire.
“Why are you here?” she asks again, the desperation in her voice clawing its way out of her throat. “I can only assume Smackle would disapprove of a secret meeting in the middle of the night, especially if the person you are meeting is me.”
Farkle’s finally says, “She didn’t hear me leave. She’s sleeping.”
With a tone of disgust, Riley snaps back, “God Farkle, you left her alone in your bed?”
“We didn’t…it wasn’t like that, Riley,” Farkle admits, his teeth clinging to his lower lip and his eyes avoiding hers. Riley covers her own eyes with her hand and violently shakes the image of Smackle splayed out across Farkle’s bed out of her head. Noticing her actions, Farkle quickly changes the subject and adds, “I needed to think.”
Farkle’s words draw Riley’s attention back to his face and she cautiously looks into his eyes. Bad move. Now she’s forced to push aside images in which she’s the one spread out on his bed.
He doesn’t seem to notice the shaky breath she takes as she asks incredulously, “About?”
“About a lot of things, and this is the best place for me to do that.”
“Well, maybe you need to find a new best place.”
“Maybe, but for now, I’m here.”
Riley sighs and gestures toward the bay window, picking up a pillow and hugging it tightly as she sits back down, situating herself next to Farkle.
“Is this about Smackle?”
Farkle frowns and nods. “I don’t get love, Riley.”
“Farkle,” she warns.
“Just hear me out, please?” he pleads. He gives Riley a look as if he has been dying to talk to someone about this for a while now, so she stays quiet and still. A few beats of silence pass by as she waits patiently for him to continue. A minute later, he says, “Every week is the same. Study together, watch a movie together, talk about colleges and the future together. Sometimes I don’t understand what the point of it all is. Shouldn’t love be more, I don’t know, interesting?”
With furrowed brows, Riley asks, “Farkle, do those things even constitute as love?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you don’t get love, but those things you just mentioned, they don’t necessarily represent love, do they? Are you in love with Smackle?”
Farkle blinks and chews on his lip, deep in thought. Then, he asks, “What does being in love feel like?”
Of course, it’s just like him to want answers. He craves that missing piece of knowledge.
Riley clears her throat and lies, “I don’t know. I’m not in love.”
“Oh,” he says in disappointment. She assumes her answer satisfies him for the time being, but Farkle continues, “Do you think love is constantly catching yourself staring at that person? Or maybe it’s when you can’t stop thinking about them? Or when—”
“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right,” Riley interrupts, exasperated. She doesn’t actually need him to spell out all the signs of being in love. After all, she’s living it.
“Oh,” he repeats, but this time with a much lighter tone. “Hey, Riley?”
Riley doesn’t hear him. She’s too focused on his explanation of love and how it resonates just a little bit too closely with the motions she goes through every single day. What finally forces her away from her thoughts is a sudden, intense warmth that spreads through her entire body. An involuntarily gasp escapes her lips, and in her otherwise quiet room, it sounds far too loud and sinful for her liking.
The source, she discovers, is Farkle’s hand covering her own. His touch is soft and his eyes are worried, but all Riley feels and sees is fire. It’s everything she wants. She would gladly go up in flames if it meant his hands were all over her.
But it’s wrong, and she knows it.
Riley jerks away from him, pulling her hand out from under his. She lightly shakes it a few times, discarding any lingering embers.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she insists and pushes him back toward the window. “Go. You should be with Smackle.”
Looking defeated, Farkle turns his back to Riley. Straddling the window sill, he turns his head toward Riley and whispers, “Should I?”