The mural started with a wall behind the rec center and a bag of half-used spray paint cans.


“Art camp’s not for two more weeks,” Maya said, eyeing the wall with a mix of nervousness and excitement. “But I figured—why wait?”


Lucas grinned and handed her a can. “Lead the way, Picasso.”


She outlined the base: two girls standing back-to-back under a night sky filled with stars and symbols—musical notes, paintbrushes, books, a basketball spinning in the dark.


“Is that us?” Lucas asked.


Maya nodded. “Kind of. It’s about finding your light. Even when everything feels dark.”


He looked at her, quiet for a second. “You always think like this?”


Maya shrugged. “Only on Tuesdays.”


They laughed, and for a while, all was good—colors spraying, ideas flowing, their hands stained with blue and gold.


But when Maya texted Brielle a picture of the half-finished mural, she didn’t reply.


Not in the afternoon. Not that night.


Not even the next morning.


When Maya finally called, Brielle picked up on the third ring. Her voice was flat.


“Hey.”


“Are you okay?”


“Yeah.”


“You didn’t answer yesterday. I just… I wanted to show you the mural. It’s really coming together.”


Brielle was quiet for a moment. Then: “Looks great.”


Maya bit her lip. “Want to come help finish it?”


“I can’t. I’m babysitting. Again.”


“Maybe tomorrow?”


“I don’t know, Maya. Not everyone has the summer off to play artist and flirt with Guitar Boy.”


The words hit like a slap. Maya stood still in her room, the phone suddenly heavy in her hand.


“That’s not fair,” she said softly.


“I’m just tired, okay?” Brielle snapped. Then sighed. “I’ll call you later.”


But she didn’t.


That night, Maya sat in front of the mural alone, a can of gold paint in her lap. She stared at the space where the second girl’s hand should have been reaching for the stars—and couldn’t bring herself to finish it.


Something had cracked.


And she didn’t know how to fix it.